One Poor Captive In Her Cage
by Samwysesr
Summary: What happened to Sonya Karp between the time she was removed from St. Vlads and when she decided to become Strigoi? Who was it that might have influenced her decision to take such a drastic step to escape from Spirit's madness?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N I have recently convinced my sister to read the Vampire Academy series, and she came to me a few nights ago with questions about poor Sonya Karp. She was upset when I told her the books never go into detail about what happened to Ms. Karp between the time she is removed from St. Vlads and when she became Strigoi. **_

_**In Vampire Academy, Rose states (to Lissa) that she heard about Sonya becoming Strigoi 'about a month or so after she left'. **_

_**This story takes place during the period of Sonya's incarceration. In it I interpret Rose's statement of 'a month or so' to be approximately a 40 day period. **_

_**I took inspiration from the classic Russian poet Alexandr Pushkin and his work 'The Little Bird' (****Птичка**).  
_

_**Hope you enjoy it.  
**_

_**Disclaimer for entire story: Recognizable characters, select dialogue and VA belong to Richelle Mead. I only own the plot line of this story as well as characters not included in the original series.  
**_

* * *

The visions beat against her mind in a never-ending torrent. She felt like a tiny raft adrift on an angry churning sea. One after another, they played out, without stopping to give her exhausted brain a chance to rest.

She paced the cell, her movements constant and frantic. Twenty steps from one wall to the next, over and over, babbling to herself all the while. A nearby guard watched her, his expression not betraying the sympathy he felt for the lovely Moroi woman in front of him. The past few days had been hell on him, watching a lady suffer in such a manner was utterly deplorable, in his opinion. She was always like this, barely resting, hardly eating. For all intents and purposes, Sonya Karp had completely lost her mind.

"They're coming for me. Somehow, they know. Why do I keep seeing a blue house? I need to tend my flowers. Where is Misha? Damn them, always watching me. Did she get her out?"

As the last question left her mouth, she launched herself at the bars, her eyes wide and crazed. "Rosemarie! Did she get the Princess out?"

The man didn't answer her, not meeting her eyes. Four days ago when she was admitted into the facility, all the guardians assigned to this ward were given strict orders forbidding any form of conversation with the woman. She was susceptible to intense fits of rage, harming herself in the process. Much as it pained him to ignore a lady's question, he forced himself to follow orders. Still, he acknowledged that his resolve grew weaker, and would continue to do so as long as he remained near her. It was not in his nature to ignore a woman in such obvious distress.

"Where is my Misha? Can I see him? Please?" She reached out a hand towards the guardian, her expression one of intense longing. "Will you get him for me?"

Biting the inside of his lip, the man flicked his eyes towards the lovely woman. He recognized the yearning on her face—he'd felt the same way when his Sofiya had been taken from him, so many years ago at St. Basils. Surely, it could not hurt to take a message to her lover; it might even help her in the long run. How could anyone expect her to recover if she spent every day alone, with no one to talk to except herself?

"If you like I could give Guardian Tanner a message, madam." His voice was low and deep, his accent making the words musical.

Her blue eyes filled with tears as she nodded. "Does he… Does he still love me? Ask him. Please. Tell him… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This isn't my fault. I… I can't control it anymore."

"I need not ask him, madam. I can answer your question. Mikhail loves you with all his heart. He makes calls every day, demanding to know where you've been taken. Begging to be allowed to come see you. I have heard the other guardians discussing his devotion on many occasions over the past few days."

A low sob escaped her. Sliding down the bars, she collapsed to the floor, leaning her head against the metal that caged her. Her thin shoulders shook as she cried out her sorrow, the sound tearing at his heart. She looked so much like his Sofiya, except for her hair. Madam Karp's hair was the rich color of fallen leaves in autumn. Sofiya had hair as black as the night sky. When she would let it down, releasing it from its bindings, it had flowed around her pale shoulders like an ebony cloak, gleaming like a raven's shiny wing.

His sympathy for the poor woman grew with each tiny gasp she made. Every one of her tears was like a slap to his face. To treat a woman like this… it was abominable. Damn his superiors to hell for their cruelty!

"Please madam. This will not help your health. You must concentrate on getting better. As soon as you do, they will release you."

"What is your name?" She choked out, rubbing at her tear stained cheek with a thin, pale hand.

"Savva. Savva Luzhkov."

"Thank you for speaking to me. All the silence was driving me—" she broke off, smiling sadly, "more insane than usual."

"Please madam, get up from the ground. It is drafty and dirty, no place for a lady such as yourself. When my shift ends, I will contact Mikhail. I promise you."

She used the bars to pull herself upright, studying him all the while. She wondered about this man—why would he risk his superiors anger to help someone like her? Someone who couldn't tell fantasy from reality from one minute to the next—lost in a cloud of madness more often than not. Was this a trick? Was he one of the ones who wanted to hurt her? "Why do you look so sad, Guardian Luzhkov?"

"You remind me of someone I knew long ago. She had an… illness similar to your own."

Sonya laughed. "An illness. So polite. Why not just say she lost her mind?"

"Madam, please. I meant what I said. She had the exact same afflictions as you. I've read your file. I know you never specialized. That you can… do things that others cannot. My Sofiya was the same."

Her head snapped up, her deep blue eyes wide with shock as she processed the meaning of his words. "What happened to her? Is she… did she kill herself?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I cannot discuss that—please understand… it still hurts too much."

She cocked her head, gauging his reaction. Was he a plant, sent to find out what she could do? No. Something about the sadness in his eyes touched her, soothing her nerves—nerves that were drawn as taut as bowstrings. The tension was a feeling she'd been experiencing for far too long. Perhaps he would indeed help her. Maybe he could even—

Her temporary mental clarity began slipping away as tendrils of black mist invaded her thoughts. Frantically she clawed at her forehead, trying to stop the invasion. Her attempts were futile. Such a small amount of pain could no longer hold off the madness—it had surpassed her meager pain threshold a few days before. No, now she would require something stronger… Something more… intense if she wanted to hang on to her sanity. With a bloodcurdling scream she slammed her head into the iron bars, smiling manically as the skin spilt and blood began to flow down her face like claret tears. She repeated the action, slowly sliding to the floor, knocked unconscious by the force of the blow.

She'd moved so quickly Luzhkov had been unable to intervene. Pulling out his radio, he called for assistance. This wasn't the first time in the four days she'd been here that Sonya Karp had injured herself, but it was the first time it had happened on his watch. In all the time he'd been guarding this ward, he'd never seen the medical team in action.

They moved quickly, securing her to the small mattress with sturdy straps of material before cleaning and dressing the wounds. When she began to stir they sedated her, finishing their work as quickly as possible. Upon completion they removed her restraints, then left as suddenly as they'd appeared.

As Luzhkov watched the sleeping woman, he began softly humming a lullaby, hoping it would penetrate through the drugs she'd been given and soothe her troubled mind. He closed the distance between his regular post and the bars of her cell, studying her lovely face. So like Sofiya. Like Sofiya had been before…

Sighing to himself, he returned to the wall, waiting for the end of his shift, lost in memories of the woman he'd loved. The woman he still loved to this day, and would continue loving until the end of time.

Sofiya Badica had been the most beautiful girl in her class, with long dark hair and steel gray eyes. Ever male in the school had been in love with her, Moroi and dhampire alike. She refused every offer that came her way with a polite smile and kind words. Her answer was always the same. 'Thank you, but I cannot. My heart is not my own'.

Savva Luzhkov had loved Sofiya from the first moment he saw her, a young girl sitting beside the small pond near his village. Her family had been visiting relatives in the settlement, and she—as young children often do—wandered off to explore. Even at six years old, she'd been beautiful, her hair plaited down her back, her cheeks rosy from the chill in the air. He was eight years old then; he'd realized that the lovely girl's station in life would always be far above his own. The young boy might feel as though he'd discovered the rarest treasure in the world when he gazed upon her, but he would never be able to tell her what was in his heart. He was not worthy to even speak to such a beautiful, royal creature, let alone to harbor thoughts of puppy love.

Even as those thoughts ran through his head, she turned towards him, warming him with a beaming smile, calling out a cheerful hello. From that moment on, he'd been hers, completely and totally. Her family relocated to his village, and as the years passed he and Sofiya grew closer, until they were completely inseparable. They completed each other's sentences, almost as if they shared the same mind. A single word need not pass between them and still, somehow they'd communicate. He was her best friend, the person she confided all her secrets to—a fact that filled him with happiness.

He was content with that—being her friend. He would always wish there could be more between them, but he knew her family would never allow their highborn daughter to become romantically ensnared with a lowly dhampire. Even after ten years, the Badica's barely tolerated the platonic friendship their only child had formed with someone they considered lower than 'the help'.

They put up with him out of sheer necessity. Their sweet young daughter harbored a very dark secret. She was subject to fits of intense melancholia, sometimes so debilitating that she had to be sedated. During those times, there was only one person she allowed near her, and that was Savva. When the depression was upon her, he would hold her hand and sing to her, telling her stories as she rode out the storms that raged within her mind. Only he could anchor her, preventing her from slipping away into the delusions. For that, at least, her parents were thankful.

He'd always known they would remain close—at least until Sofiya's parents decided upon a suitable royal match for their daughter. He knew when that happened—when she married—he would lose her forever, so he committed each and every moment they spent together into his memory. Someday that would be all he had to hold onto. Memories, stored in his mind like a dried out flower pressed between the pages of a book.

Their easygoing friendship changed sooner than he could have anticipated. Not because of her parents, but because of Sofiya's own actions. It was something no one had anticipated or planned for.

One quiet, cold evening a week before her sixteenth birthday, Sofiya sat bundled up, almost reclining on a bench outside the building that contained her dorm room. Her head tilted back as she smiled up at the night sky, her dark braid so long that it almost brushed the ground. Savva watched her from the shadows, thinking she looked like an angel under the moons soft, silvery glow, wishing he had some artistic talent so that he could sketch her or paint her, capturing her beauty on canvas forever.

For hours they stayed like that, until their peaceful scene was shattered by an unwanted intruder. He sensed an approaching Moroi before he saw him, alerted by the crunch of leaves underfoot. Cursing the intrusion on their solitude, he felt himself tensing as the boy came into sight. Intense frustration washed through him as he realized who it was. Lord Rudolf Szelsky—a notorious womanizer—was the man Sofiya's mother was determined to match with her daughter. He was the latest in a never ending stream of suitors come to invite her to the upcoming Troitsa celebration. There would be refreshments, a bonfire and dancing, chaperoned by the academy staff in just two weeks' time. So far every unattached male under the age of twenty had asked for the privilege of escorting her, but she'd shot each and every one of them down, sending them away with a sad little smile and no lingering resentment or hard feelings. She had that effect on people, no matter what she did, they still longed for her company. Not that she was ever rude. His Sofiya did not have a discourteous bone in her body.

He watched her greet the newcomer, biting back a smile a few moments later when her sweet voice drifted his way, carried to him by the evening breeze.

"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Szelsky. It is most kind of you to ask, but I cannot. My heart is not my own."

The Moroi was older than Sofiya—his age at least, perhaps a year older—and extremely handsome. As such, he was most assuredly unaccustomed to being refused by a female when he asked them out. For a moment he looked as though he might argue, perhaps even demanding her companionship. Savva prepared himself—it wouldn't be the first time he'd stepped in to defend her from unwanted advances. Just as he was about to make his presence known, the young Szelsky lord seemed to remember a rumor he'd heard—the young Badica girl had a dhampire friend that always lingered somewhere nearby. Perhaps he also recalled what had happened last term when Grigor Voda tried to steal a kiss—the boy had been unconscious for almost a full day, knocked out from a single, powerful blow. Deciding she wasn't worth physical pain or the accompanying humiliation, Szelsky bowed politely, his eyes darting around as if he could feel Savva's fierce, dark gaze weighing down on him from the trees.

Sofiya's amused laughter pulled him out of his dark thoughts, her words lightening his mood in an instant. "Come out, my guardian. Everyone knows you're there. Sit beside me and keep me company for a change."

Smiling, he stepped out of the trees, hurrying to her side. "I'm not your guardian yet, Sofochka. I'm still just a novice."

"You've always be my guardian, Savva. Even without a promise mark." Her fingers brushed against the back of his neck, causing his eyes to involuntarily flutter shut as he savored the sensation. They were long and slender, warm against his skin, filling him with a tingle that only she could create. Closing the distance between them, she burrowed her tiny hands in his coat pocket and rested her head on his shoulder. "It's chilly tonight."

"Then why are we out here, when warm fires are lit, waiting just inside the door?"

She laughed. "I wanted to stargaze. It's so beautiful—the night sky—don't you think?"

He longed to put his arms around her. To say that the beauty of the sky paled when compared to her face. Instead, he held his tongue, simply cherishing the feel of her slim body pressing against his arm as she huddled closer in an attempt to warm herself.

His heart raced at her close proximity. Did she realize what she did to him, when she cuddled up so close? He turned his face, just a few inches, taking in the scent of her hair. It was like wildflowers in a springtime meadow, a scent that was uniquely Sofiya, making his chest ache and his body awaken.

"Have you asked anyone to the festival?" She asked, almost hesitantly.

"No. There's no one I care to take." He rested his cheek on her head. It was the truth. If he couldn't escort Sofiya, he would rather go alone. At least then he could follow her, making sure no one took advantage of her innocence.

"No one… No one at all?" Her voice sounded strange, almost as if she were falling into one of her… spells. He pulled back glancing down at her. She was indeed crying, with a frantic look in her eyes. "What's wrong Sofochka?"

"Nothing." She scooted closer still, burying her face in his coat.

"It's not nothing. You're upset. Tell me why." He demanded, allowing himself to rub her back for a moment to comfort her. He fought against the urge to embrace her, to whispering soothing words against her soft, teary cheek. He would tell her that she was his life. Now and forever, his precious girl.

She pulled away, refusing to look at him. "I thought you might want to ask me."

"Your parents would never allow that, Sofochka. They—"

"I don't care. I want to go with you. Shouldn't that be all that matters?"

He studied her tear streaked face, realizing she might be scared to go with anyone else. If that were the case, perhaps he should ask his sister to council her. Magda was older and wiser, so it would be easy for her to advise the younger girl what to expect on a date, and how a lady should behave. He tried to formulate his thoughts into words, knowing he'd fail miserably. This wasn't the type of discussion he wanted to have with her—it tore out his heart to encourage her to date another man.

"Sofiya, I know that it might seem scary, to accept some of the… invitations that come your way, but… you need to. Those boys are the ones your parent's will match you with in a few years time. I'm a no one, and society would not look kindly upon us attending together, even knowing we are just dear friends. Perhaps if you spoke with Magdalina—she's been dating for a while. Maybe then it wouldn't be so frightening to you."

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I want to go with you because I'm scared of other boys? Are you that stupid, Savva?"

The coldness of her tone hurt him, stunning him into silence. He stared at the ground, trying to gain control over his wayward emotions. He must compose himself. It would do neither of them any good if he confessed his true feelings.

"I don't care about society, or my parents. I don't care about the fact I'm a royal Moroi and you're a dhampire." She paused, trying to control her breathing. "I wish I were someone else. I wish I were a dhampire."

Her statement jerked his head up, his brown eyes locking with her gray ones. . "What? Why would you want that?"

"I'd be free then. Free to love who I wanted. Free to—"

His bitter laugh cut her off. "Free? You think we're free? If that's what you believe Sofiya, then I'm not the stupid one. We have no freedom to love. Our men are sworn into fealty—into slavery to the Moroi. Sometimes our women become guardians, unless they're content to sit at home and spread their legs for the Moroi Lords who feel the urge to stray from their high born wives. At best we might experience a few nights of stolen passion. But not love. Never love."

"But your parents… they love each other. I've watched them." Her voice sounded small and shocked at his outburst.

"Pytor is not my father—you know that dhampires cannot breed together. My mother was raped by a drunken Moroi when she was fourteen years old. Pytor was a friend of her family—he was injured when Strigoi killed his charge. The council deemed his useless because the monster crushed his hand. Had he still been a guardian, they would not have married. Even after their wedding, both were instructed that should one of the great lords come looking for fun, she was forbidden to refuse. My father is some nameless Moroi that pulled her from her marriage bed for a night of fun. "

"I thought… My grandmother tells stories about dhampires that had children together. In the olden days…"

He scoffed at her. "That's exactly what they are. Stories. Fairy tales to amuse children." He stood, not wanting her to see the anger that was clawing at his heart. "As a dhampire I have no choice but to be a guardian, Sofochka. That means I cannot love. I can only serve." He turned to go, but her words froze him in place.

"If you're with me, you can do both, Savva. I love you. You have my heart." Her voice was thick with unshed tears.

His heart swelled to bursting, but at the same time, her words shattered him into a million pieces. It was impossible. They would never allow it. If anyone found out, those in power would never assign him to be her guardian. Perhaps if her family were disgraced, or if she were not royal—but as it was…

"You've had claim to it since the day I met you." Her voice was closer now, right behind him.

All he would have to do would be to turn and take her in his arms. So easy, but so, so forbidden. He wanted to—God above, how he wanted to. He'd dreamt of it night after night, year after year. To love Sofiya freely. To escape the life that was predestined for all male dhampires, taking her away from here—to live among humans, perhaps—and make her his wife. They would have children and raise them together, giving their sons and daughters the choices he'd never had when he was young. His feelings for her had grown so much more intense over the last three years, until he was constantly on the verge of confessing his love to her. Every day it grew more difficult to stand beside her as just her friend when he yearned for so much more.

He forced himself to concentrate on the fact such a pairing was strictly forbidden. Sighing deeply, he realized this might be a sign from above that it was time to set her free, into the life she deserved. She should not be saying such things to him—her words of love should not be wasted on a lowly dhampire.

"Savva?" Her voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Do you… love me too?"

She sounded so scared, as if his answer were the most important thing in the world to her. He knew he should deny it. He should be brusque and abrupt and walk away. But it was Sofiya. His Sofiya—and he loved her more than life itself. In the end, there was only one thing he could do.

He gathered her in his arms and kissed her senseless.

It was more glorious than he'd ever imagined. Her lips were soft and sweet, fitting against his own like the pieces of a children's puzzle. Pulling her body closer, he used one hand to pull off the ribbon that tied the end of her braid. Laughing, she shook her head as he slid his fingers through the thick strands, unraveling the weaving that held it so tightly in place.

"Is that a yes?" She asked, smiling sweetly.

"That is an I love you, my Sofochka. Always you, from that very first day. You stole my heart and have held it all this time." He reclaimed her lips, his hands threading through her hair as she pressed herself up against his broad chest.

From that moment on, everything changed, in ways they'd never imagined possible.

"Luzhkov? You okay, man?"

Shaking his head, he pushed his memories aside, nodding to the guardian who'd come to replace him. He shouldn't have done that. Drifting off was unprofessional at best, and could be fatally dangerous at worst. "Yes. Forgive me. I was thinking about what happened earlier." He nodded his head towards Sonya's cell. "She was upset and harmed herself. It was… disturbing."

"That one…" The other man sighed. "She shouldn't be here. They need to move her to a more secure facility. The look she gets in her eyes sometimes… it's almost as if she's trying to figure out how to take me down. She scares the hell out of me, and I don't say that lightly."

Handing over his radio and clipboard, Savva excused himself. Thanks to the fact he often covered for other guards on his off time, this had been the last shift he would have for a three day period. It would take him almost twenty-two hours to drive to Saint Vladimir's from Albuquerque.

He stopped off at the guardian break room, swapping a few shifts in order to buy himself an extra day—just to be on the safe side. Sonya Karp awoke his protective nature—something he thought had been destroyed the day he lost the woman he loved. He'd been wrong. It was still there, it had just been deeply buried beneath two decade's worth of heartache and misery. Somehow, this woman—this stranger—had excavated it with a few simple sentences.

He would help poor, deranged Sonya Karp because he'd given her his word, and also because no one else seemed to give a damn about her suffering. The fact she reminded him of his Sofiya didn't have any bearing on his decision in the slightest. In any case, that was what he tried to convince himself of as he hurried off to fulfill his promise.


	2. Chapter 2

He drove straight through, only stopping to refuel his vehicle when needed. As the miles rolled by, his thoughts returned to the past. To her. Always to her. Sofiya.

Their relationship shifted easily, they were still best friends, only now they were so much more. Once acknowledged, they refused to hide the depth of their love for each other. Together they handled the maelstrom of gossip and harsh comments that their relationship spawned. He worried of course, that the negative reaction of their peers would trouble Sofiya, sparking one of her episodes. His concerns were needless. For the first time in her life, she was not controlled by the prolonged depression of spirit that had tormented her for so long. She was secure and happy, wrapped in the safe blanket his love provided. For a time, they were blissfully happy.

Savva graduated, and her parents were so pleased with the change in their daughters demeanor, they insisted he be assigned as her guardian upon the completion of her schooling. The Badica family was powerful—their request was immediately granted, despite the fact that there were royal Moroi in immediate need of guardians. Savva and Sofiya were thrilled to learn he would remain at the academy, replacing a guardian whom had lost his desire for teaching, enabling them to remain together during her final two years of training. On her graduation day she would become his charge, and their life together could begin in.

On their one year anniversary they became lovers—it was everything they'd dreamed it would be. They spent hours lying in his narrow bed, bodies entwined as they discussed their future. They would marry as soon as she turned eighteen—her father had given his blessing, overruling her mother's strident objections. After that, perhaps they would travel for a while. After all, it didn't really matter what they did, or where they went, as long as they were together.

The loud, piercing sound of a horn pulled him back into himself. Once again, he had been so intent on his ruminations of the past that he forgot his surroundings, this time letting his car drift across several lanes of traffic. Cursing to himself in his mother tongue, he vowed to keep him mind on the road. For the time being, he would banish all thoughts of her, until he reached his destination. He had to—if he didn't he would never reach Montana in one piece.

* * *

He waited at the gate for over thirty minutes, his irritation growing with every second that passed. His entrance to the campus was waiting on approval by someone in authority. When it finally came, it was under the condition he report directly to Head Guardian Petrov's office. It didn't worry him, he'd expected they would want him to check in and explain his sudden unannounced appearance.

It took him longer than he'd expected to find the building that housed the guardian headquarters. After parking, he'd wandered around, unsure of where Petrov's office might be located. He'd never been here before, and in hindsight he probably should have obtained directions from the surly man at the gate. At that moment, Providence smiled down on him, sending an angel to guide him, in the form of a lovely young girl.

He did not know the girls name, but he had a faint idea who she was, because of her uncanny resemblance to her mother. Her hair was dark instead of red, and her skin a bit more tan, but other than that, they were very alike.

"Excuse me. Would you by chance be related to Guardian Janine Hathaway?" He asked.

The girl stared at him, a scowl twisting up her pretty face. "What's it to you?"

He faltered, unsure why the girl seemed so… volatile. "I… you look like someone I know. My name is Savva. I'm visiting here—I was supposed to meet Guardian Petrov in her office. I'm lost and now I think she might be quite angry at my tardiness. Could you point me in the right direction?"

She studied him for a moment. "She's my mom. Janine, I mean—not Petrov. I'm Rose. Don't worry about being late. Just tell Alberta you were… Hmm… Forget it. Come on, I'll show you the way."

He followed her, intensely amused by the way she carried herself. She appeared to be perhaps fifteen, but she had the demeanor of someone so much older. Perhaps she was in fact older and was just small for her age. "What level are you in, Rose?"

"Sophomore. Why does Alberta need to see you, are you going to be working here or something?"

He couldn't stop a self-satisfied smirk from turning up the corner of his mouth. He was right—fifteen going on at least twenty. He was willing to bet this high spirited novice was quite the handful. His sister had been the same. So—for that matter—had Janine. "No. I'm here to visit a friend. Guardian Petrov wanted to meet with me first, I'm not really sure why."

They'd reached a large stone building and Rose lead him through a maze of hallways, stopping outside a closed wooden door.

"Let me do the talking okay? I know how to handle Alberta when she's in a mood." He stared at her, amazed by her candor. She opened the door without knocking, sauntering in as if this were her own office space, not seeming intimidated or worried in the slightest that her rude entrance would most assuredly gain her a stern reprimand.

"What can I do for you, Rose?" The voice sounded amused by her rather dramatic entrance.

"For me? Nothing but he needs… Hey, where's you go?" She stuck her dark head out the door, scowling. "Well come on in, don't just lurk in the hallway like that—it looks creepy."

Struggling to contain his amusement, he followed her into the office, bowing politely to the woman behind the desk. "Guardian Petrov. It is a pleasure to—"

"It's my fault he's late. We were talking about my mother and he lost track of the time." Again her mouth twisted into a dramatic grimace. "Anyway, he didn't know how to find you, so I brought him."

"I see. Thank you. Shouldn't you be in class right now?"

She sighed. "I guess so. See you around Savva."

He watched as she flounced out the door, slamming it shut behind her. "That child is a force of nature," he muttered, forgetting that he wasn't alone in the room.

"Indeed she is. Maybe I should start calling her hurricane Rosie." Soft, feminine laughter drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

She was a handsome woman of middle age, with a firm handshake and serious gray eyes. Now that he was in her presence, he realized her name and face were familiar. Probably from his time at the academy, although he would guess she was several years his senior.

"What brings you to Saint Vladimir's, Guardian Luzhkov?" She asked, waving him into one of the two wooden chairs that faced her battered desk.

"I have come to see Guardian Tanner regarding a personal matter." He tried to keep his voice light and calm. The last thing he wanted was to appear demeaning—this was her domain, after all, and he was nothing more than a visitor. It was well within her power to deny his request.

"Guardian Tanner has been ill. I'm afraid he is in no condition to see anyone at the moment." She opened a drawer, withdrawing a pad of paper and pen. " If you would like to write him a note, I can pass it on to him."

He cursed under his breath in Russian. He'd known there was a chance his trip would be in vain, but to have come so far and be turned away… It was beyond frustrating. Reaching for the pad, he realized the woman was studying his face with narrowed eyes.

"You seem very familiar to me. Have we met before?"

"I attended Saint Basil's, Guardian Petrov. You were a few years ahead of me."

"Please call me Alberta. Did you have an older brother or sister my age?"

Perhaps you knew my sister Magdalina. She was a few years older than me. She was very much like your young Rose. A bit… wild."

She grinned. "Yes! That's it—you have the same eyes. She was always talking about you and—" She broke off, her smile fading.

Savva tried to steel himself for what he knew would be coming. It didn't help, but still, he always hoped it might ease the blow. Maybe someday it would—he doubted it, though.

"You were the one engaged to the Badica girl. The one she tried to—"

"Yes." His clipped tone cut her off in mid-sentence. "Her name was Sofiya."

"I'm sorry for your loss." She offered, her tone somber now.

Always it happened this way. People would remember their story, and the atmosphere would fill with remorse, pressing against him until he thought he might scream out. He wanted no pity. He wanted no kind words or platitudes. They didn't matter in the slightest. They couldn't bring her back. Nothing could.

"Thank you." He shifted in his chair, anxious to get the conversation back on track. "Since you know about my… Sofiya, you should understand that if anyone knows what Mikhail Tanner is going through, it is I. Perhaps I can help him. I have come such a long way to talk with him about his Sonya. If I could just—"

She narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms across her ample bosom. "We were told the Karp situation would be handled with complete secrecy. How the hell do you know anything about it?

"It is a secret madam, one only a few are privy to. I swear to you I will speak of this to no one but Tanner. He needs to know what has become of her, if he ever hopes to move on,"

"You haven't answered my question, Luzhkov"

"I am one of the men assigned to watch over her. What were you told—about her problems?" Savva leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Very little. Just that she was being taken to a hospital for treatment and that the Queen didn't want a scandal."

"A hospital?" He couldn't contain his disgust. I would call Dyepozitariy many things, but hospital is not one of them."

Alberta's mouth dropped open, betraying the shock she must be feeling at his words. That's… That's almost as bad as being sent to Tarasov! She's supposed to be getting medical help, she's not a prisoner!"

He sighed, running his hands through his dark hair as he contemplated how much to disclose. "Alberta," he began, leaning towards her. "I must have your word of honor as guardian that what I say to you does not leave this room. Will you agree?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"Sonya Karp is locked in a cell—little more than a cage, really—perhaps half the size of this office. It is located in what they refer to as the hospital ward—meaning it has a medical staff on hand. That is where all similarities to a medical facility end. She had not been allowed to clean herself since she was transported. She is wearing the same clothes, although they are torn and soiled. Her restroom facilities would be considered sub-par in any civilized country. She has harmed herself several times since being in custody, and I fear the madness is growing worse with each hour that passes. All the guards on duty have been forbidden to speak or interact with her in any way, and the silence is destroying her. In a lucid moment she asked me to deliver a message to Mikhail. I gave her my word that I would do so. I have driven over twenty to hours to keep my promise. I must see him. If I talk with him, there might be a chance…"

"A chance for what?" She asked softly. "Why did you disobey your superiors and speak with her? What are you hoping to achieve, Savva?"

"No woman… No innocent should be treated in the manner they are treating her. It is unjust and beyond cruel. I thought maybe if I could talk to Mikhail, perhaps to snap his picture, I could smuggle it in to her. I thought he could tell me the foods she might like—she is not eating, you see. I want to help her. I have to help her, Alberta."

"Why?"

He stared at his hands, wringing them together so hard that the knuckles cracked. "She is so like my Sofiya. They could be sisters. She even had the same malady. The melancholia—that is what drove her over the edge in the end. Perhaps this is God's way of letting me redeem past mistakes. I… I have to try. Please. Let me see him. Even if it is only for five minutes, let me help them."

Alberta studied him for a few minutes more before finally nodding. "You're a good man, Savva Luzhkov. If you ever decide you want another job, I'll always have an opening for you."

He blinked, ashamed of the tears that filled his eyes at her kind words. "I thank you. But as long as moya maliy ptitsa is there, I must stay to watch over her."

She smiled at his words. "Why do you call her your little bird?"

"She is like a robin trapped in a cage, slowly dying as it longs for its freedom. From the moment I saw her, Pushkin's poem ran through my mind, and I wanted so much to free her from that horrible place. I can't of course, but I can attempt to ease her suffering."

She nodded, standing in a fluid, graceful movement. "You realize that Sonya's mother was a Badica. She might well be related to—"

"I knew the moment I saw her that she shared familial blood with Sofiya. Please do not think I do this because I harbor any romantic feelings towards Madam Karp—there are none. I have loved only one woman in my life, and she still holds my heart to this day. I do this because it is the right thing. So many years ago I failed…" He shook his head. "I cannot fail this time. I will comfort this girl as best I can while she still had a mind to think with. Once it's gone…"

"Come on. I'll take you over to the guardian staff quarters and set you up in a room, then we'll go see Tanner." She put her arm around his shoulder, giving it a single small squeeze as she steered him out the door.

He gnawed at his lip, struggling as always to contain the sorrow that welled within him. It had been so long since he'd been happy. So many years, one rolling into the next. Time passing and him growing older, always longing for her. Wondering what might have been had it not been for a spoiled Moroi lord and his troublesome friends.

When they exited the building Alberta chuckled at the sight that awaited them. Rose leaned against the wall, his large duffle bag thrown over her shoulder. She gave them a cheeky grin as she winked at him.

"Took you long enough! I've been out here forever."

"Rose, didn't I tell you to go to class?"

She shrugged. "I did, but Stan kicked me out. I thought I could chat with Savva some more about my mother."

Shaking her head, Alberta rolled her eyes. "Fine. Lead on, Hathaway."

"How did she know which car was mine? For that matter, I know I locked it." He whispered.

"Trust me, the longer you're here, the more you'll realize there's nothing that gets by that girl. And there's nothing she can't do. She'll be an excellent guardian, if I can just figure out how to get her to buckle down and focus on her schooling."

He watched as the girl flirted with a passing Moroi who looked to be several years her senior. "You might want to consider keeping her away from the boys. If she's anything like her mother, she'll… develop… well, I'm sure you know what I mean." He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Promise me you won't tell Rose any stories about her mother's school days. Janine would kill you, and I'd hate to have to step in between the two of you. That woman has a wicked right hook." Alberta bumped his shoulder, trying to relieve his discomfort. "And yes, I know what you mean. She's already a little heartbreaker as it is. In another year or so, she'll have to fight them off. How well do you know her mother?"

"Janine spent a quarter semester at Saint Basil's as an exchange student. She was Sofiya's age, and they took a liking to each other. She and Ibrahim were really the people Sofiya felt close to."

"Besides you." Alberta offered, he voice soft.

He forced himself to smile, knowing it looked forced. "Yes. Besides me." He sighed, watching Rose shoot them an impatient look from the doorway of the building. "She looks like her mother, but she has her father's attitude."

"Who was he? I've never met him."

"Really?" He glanced over at the head guardian, jarred by her words. "I can't believe that he would not take part in her rearing. Family seemed very important to him"

Alberta cocked an eyebrow, waiting for his answer. "Rose grew up without either one of her parents. Janine left her here when she was barely more than a baby. Since you say her attitude is like her father, I'm dying to know his name—she's quite a little hell raiser."

"Ibrahim… Abe Mazur."

Alberta stopped walking, an expression of complete astonishment on her face. "Bullshit."

Savva turned to her, confused by her astonishment. "I do not 'bullshit', Alberta. I remember quite clearly that he followed Janine when she left Saint Basils. Looking at the girl, There's no mistaking it. He _ is_ her father. I just wonder if he knows it."

"You can't say anything Savva. The last thing I need is to have Abe Mazur coming around here and stirring up a hornets nest. I've heard about his antics."

"I have not seen or spoken to him in years. Besides, it is not my place to speak of such things. I will, however, talk with Janine about this when I see her again. A child should not be left alone—Sofiya would be ashamed to know her friend had treated a child so…indifferently."

They reached the doorway where Rose waited, tapping her foot impatiently.

"God I hope I don't walk as slow as you guys do when I'm your age!" She winked at him, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "Are you staying for a while Savva?"

"That's Guardian Luzhkov to you, Miss Hathaway." Alberta said, shooting her a pointed look. "And I forbid him from telling you any stories about your mother. If you want to know something, you should ask her directly."

Her small hand tightened around his, the grip almost painful. "How can I ask her if she's never around?"

"Your mother is a very important guardian, malenkaya. You should try to model yourself after her."

"What's that mean, malen..kaya?"

He smiled, pushing a darks strand of hair off her face. "Little one."

"I'm not little! I'm still growing, you know!" She jerked away, her dark eyes snapping at him. "I'm almost as tall as you are!"

"Ah, but I am not a very tall man, malenkaya. In fact, I daresay I am rather short when compared to most male dhampires."

The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly as her lips curled up in a coquettish grin as she bumped up against his arm. "Nah—I wouldn't say your short, Savva. You're… what, six foot? That's just the right height for someone…"

"Rose!" Alberta's voice held barely contained amusement. "Don't be… well just stop that."

Rolling her eyes she handed Savva his bag, bowing. "I'm sorry if I was impudent, Guardian Luzhkov. It won't happen again."

He bit his lip, trying not to smile as he caught the devilish twinkle in her eyes. Oh yes, she was Abe's daughter through and through. Good God, Alberta had her hands full with this one.

Alberta led them through the building and up a narrow stairway, producing a key on a plastic fob as she briskly walked down the hallway. Stopping in front of the last door on the left she opened the door before handing him the key.

"Why don't you clean yourself up and rest for a bit, Luzhkov. I'll come get you in about an hour and take you to meet with Tanner."

He nodded, glad she'd suggested it. He wanted to wash his face and take a moment to change his clothes. Latching onto Rose's arm as the girl attempted to slip into the room, Alberta began lecturing her on classroom etiquette as she tugged the novice back down the hall. Smiling at the girls loud protestations, he shut the door quietly and leaned his head against it, allowing a weary sigh to escape. He had an hour to figure out exactly what to say to Mikhail Tanner. Somehow, that didn't seem nearly long enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Two floors above the room where Savva Luzhkov was struggling to gather his thoughts, another man was locked in an entirely different type of battle. Mikhail Tanner usually was the picture perfect guardian. His short brown hair was always neatly brushed, his small beard kept trimmed and neat, his wardrobe clean and perfectly pressed. Anyone who saw him in his current state would be… shocked, to say the least.

His normally impeccable appearance was nothing more than a memory. His bright blue eyes were puffy and red, due in part to the fact he wasn't sleeping. When paired with his hair greasy and unwashed and several worth of scraggly stubble, he looked like death warmed over.

He felt as though he were teetering on the brink of madness, himself. Six days before, his beloved Sonya had disappeared without a trace. It had been almost twenty four hours before the council bothered to notify anyone that they had sent a team in to remove the pretty young teacher from Saint Vladimir's campus. Even then, the only answers they would provide Headmistress Kirova with were vague. It was their concern that she might harm a student during one of her ever-increasing 'delusional' states.

If he'd had even an inkling that something of that magnitude had been brewing, he would have taken her from this place himself—far, far away, where no one would ever find them. As it was, no one knew where she'd been taken. The only answers that anyone had been given were vague remarks about Sonya being 'hospitalized', and that she was 'under observation, for her own safety.'

The entire situation was beyond ridiculous. Sonya couldn't—wouldn't—harm anyone. She never even swatted a fly. Hell, she refused to use pesticide when insects invaded her plants, simply because she couldn't bear the thought of hurting a living creature. She was the gentlest, most loving individual imaginable.

He stared down at the small box in his hands, rubbing his thumb over the black velvety material. It held within it something precious that he'd planned on giving her the night they'd stolen her away. It had taken him over a year to save up enough money to purchase it—campus guardians were on the low end of the pay scale. He cursed himself for waiting so long—he should have asked her a year ago, and made do with what he could afford at the time. But he'd wanted something bigger… better. She deserved only the best. And now… he shouldn't have waited. Oh God… Why had he waited so long?

A sudden knocking on his door startled him, making him jump. The small box tumbled out of his hands, falling to the floor, forgotten. He stared at the door as if he expected an army of Strigoi to burst through at any moment. No one had come to see him in days, they all knew he was grieving. Who would dare to interrupt him at a time like this?

"Go away!" His voice was low and gravely sounding, his throat sore from his most recent tearful breakdown.

He heard Alberta's familiar voice on the other side of the door, her tone sympathetic. "There's someone here to see you Mikhail. He has… information for you. About Sonya."

He felt his pulse pick up as his breathing quickened. Finally, someone was responding to the dozens of phone calls he'd made. He had spent the past week calling in every favor he'd ever made, demanding assistance from some of the top guardians in the field. No one would agree to cross the council… until now. Finally, he would get some answers.

He was on his feet and across the room in three steps, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Fumbling with the lock he threw open the door, staring at the people on the other side, his eyes crazed as he pulled them into the room.

"What do you know about her? Where is she?"

"This is Guardian Savva Luzhkov. He is one of the men assigned to… watch over Sonya." As Alberta introduced him, the stocky, dark haired man with a sad face extended his hand.

"I don't give a fuck who he is—what does he know?" Mikhail demanded.

"I will answer your questions, sir, but first you must promise me not to do anything rash with the information I give you. Sonya wouldn't want you to endanger yourself—"

Mikhail grabbed the front of the other man's shirt, tugging him almost off is feet." Don't you fucking tell me what Sonya would want! She'd want to be here, with me! Where is she, damn you?"

"Mikhail, please," Alberta forced herself between them, freeing Luzhkov in the process. "Savva is here at Sonya's request. He is putting his job on the line just by coming here."

Running his hands through his hair, Mikhail began pacing. "I'm sorry, Luzhkov. I… You can't imagine what it's been like. Please, sit down. You've spoken with her? How is she?"

"First I must have your word, Guardian Tanner. You must promise me, on your love for Sonya, that you will not attempt to see her. Not yet. If the council knew I had disobeyed…" Savva broke off, studying his hands. "I am the only one who speaks to her, you see. If they were to remove me from my post, she would have no one. The silence grates on her. It is harming her a little more, day by day."

"I agree." Mikhail leaned against his desk, waving his hand at the chair. "Alberta, sit. Please"

"No, I just came to make introductions. I'll leave you two alone. Savva, I trust you can find your way back on your own?"

"Yes Guardian Petrov—Alberta. Thank you for your assistance." He nodded at the woman, inclining his head respectfully.

As soon as the door shut, his large dark eyes focused on Mikhail. "I am sorry for what has happened. I understand how you must be feeling at this time."

Tanner scoffed, his face twisted with disdain. "You can't begin to understand what I'm feeling, Luzhkov . Unless the Queens council kidnapped the woman you loved in the middle of the night, that is."

"I lost the woman I loved too, sir, but I assure you her passing was much more horrific than anything you can imagine." Sighing, Savva sank down in the chair. "I meant that I understand about Madam Karp's illness. My Sofiya suffered from the same… dark periods. That is part of the reason I'm here."

Mikhail's face softened. Sorrow laced every word the other man uttered. "I'm sorry. You said suffered. I take it she… passed on?"

"I cannot discuss it sir. I am sorry. Let us instead speak of your beloved. She misses you terribly." Savva indicated the chair across the small table. "Please, won't you sit? I have much to say, and not a lot of time. I must return to New Mexico in the morning."

"New Mexico… That would mean she's… They didn't. Please tell me they didn't!"

Savva nodded. "Indeed. She is being held at Dyepozitariy. Deep underground."

As Mikhail's head fell forward and his body wracked with sobs, Savva Luzhkov tried his best to soothe the younger man, even as he spilled out the horrific details of Sonya's imprisonment. Abandoning his chair, he cradled Mikhail Tanner in his muscular arms, rocking him as if he were a small wounded boy, instead of a strong, seasoned guardian. Hours passed before the man's sorrow was spent—when he finally came back to himself, he pulled away, unable to meet Luzhkov's eye.

"There is no shame in sorrow, Guardian Tanner. The shame would be in not expressing the depth of your feelings." Savva sat back down, waiting for the man to collect himself. "I shall go fetch us some coffee while you shower and shave. You must make yourself presentable so I can take a picture of you for Sonya—surely you would not want her to see you in such a state? Right now you look like a… how do you say… hobo."

Mikhail let out a quick burst of laughter. "Nice try, Luzhkov, but they won't let her have photographs, not in a place like The Depository."

Savva paused by the door, turning to offer a quick, feral smile. "Ah, but what they don't know won't hurt them, Guardian Tanner. And I promise, they won't know what I smuggle in to Sonya. The photographs will be the least of our worries. Now shower and shave. I'll be back soon. We have much to discuss, and the day is slipping away from us."

With that he slipped out of the room, leaving a stunned Mikhail Tanner to stare after him in shocked wonder. Only the most obedient guardians were stationed at the top level prisons. Guardians who followed all orders, never asking a question. They all knew the penalty if they disobeyed a command. Demotion would be the least of their worries. This man… this _stranger _ was putting himself in danger by helping Sonya. Tanner couldn't help but wonder exactly why that was.

* * *

Savva made his way across the campus, eyes flicking from side to side, always aware of his surroundings. He noticed the small shadow on the other side of one of the large evergreen trees shifting from side to side, bringing a small smile to his normally dour face. The closer he got, the more it moved, and that alone advised him that whatever—or whomever—was casting the shadow had excess energy to spare.

Keeping his head up , he faced straight ahead, giving no indication that he'd noticed anything amiss. A few steps further and he heard the tiniest movement, indicating the person was preparing to attack. He spun to face his stalker, biting back a laugh at the shocked expression on her face.

"Hello, malenkaya. I thought Alberta escorted you to class?"

The rueful grin she shot him would likely break many a younger man's heart, reducing them to putty in her dainty little hands. "This is my free period."

"Lying to me already?" He shook his head, making a tsking noise. "You should be ashamed of yourself, little one."

"Don't call me that!" She put her hands on her hips, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "Five foot four is _not_ little! I'm still growing!"

"Ah, but it is small to someone of my height, Miss." He smiled at her defiant expression. "Would you prefer I call you by your given name, Rosemarie?"

"Ugh. NO!" Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Just Rose."

"Fine then." He started walking, knowing she would fall in step beside him. "Would you show me to the cafeteria, Roza?"

She shot him a look that would have frozen a lesser man. "I said _Rose_, Savva. Are you hard of hearing?"

"That is what I called you." He chuckled softly, amused by her disdain. "That is how we say your name in Russia."

"I think I prefer malen-whatsit. Roza sounds… weird." She was silent for a few minutes, studying him from the corner of her eye. He stopped in his tracks, facing her.

"What could be so fascinating that you keep staring at me? Surely not my ugly old face?" He asked.

Smiling sweetly, she shoved her hands in her pockets, scuffing her sneaker clad foot in the pathway. "Why won't you call me Rose?"

"I will make a deal with you. If you'll tell me truthfully why you aren't in class, I suppose I could force myself to remember you prefer Rose." He leaned down, arching an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I got kicked out. This guy… he… touched me." She looked into the trees, her cheeks flushing. "When I walked by his desk, he… you know… grabbed my rear."

Savva felt a surge of protective fury fill him. "Who did this to you, Rose?"

"Just some stupid Moroi. As soon as he did it, I punched him. That's what got me kicked out. Guardian Nichols sent me to see Kirova, but she wasn't in her office."

"I want you to take me to see this Guardian Nichols. Now, please." He took her hand and threaded it through his arm, resting it on the crook of his elbow.

"No Savva—it's okay. I handled it. Really." She tried to pull away, protesting vehemently.

"It is not okay, Rose. You should not be punished for defending yourself against unwanted advances. Now show me where the classroom is, or I promise you, I'll find it on my own."

She begrudgingly led him into one of the large buildings, pointing out the room in question. Requesting she wait in the hall, he walked over to the door and rapped on the glass three times before opening it. The teacher was a young dhampire who appeared to be barely old enough to be out of school himself.

Walking briskly to the front of the room, Savva quietly asked the man if he spoke Russian. When he nodded in affirmation, Savva let loose a torrent of angry words, belittling the man for his earlier actions. By the time he was finished, Nichols had paled considerably, probably due to the threat of physical violence Savva had promised should the instructor ever berate or punish a young dhampire girl for defending her virtue in the future.

Savva escorted Rose back into the room, ushering her up to the teacher's desk. "I believe you have something to say Guardian Nichols?"

"I'm sorry Miss Hathaway, I was unaware you had been… manhandled."

Rose nodded, her eyes wide. She looked at Savva with something akin to awe, wondering perhaps, what had brought about such a sudden change in the unbending instructor.

"Which boy did this horrible thing, Rose? Point him out to me." Savva whispered in her ear.

She pointed to a thin Moroi with sandy blonde hair and a swollen red cheek seated near the back of the room. "Him. Stefan Drozdov."

"Mister Drozdov. I am Guardian Luzhkov. You will come with me, please. Immediately."

The Moroi smirked at him, slowly standing and gathering his books before sauntering towards the door. "You taking me to Kirova?"

"No, I am taking you to Guardian Petrov. I'm sure she'll have a special punishment for a Moroi who cannot keep his hands to himself."

"Whatever man, it's not like she didn't enjoy it."

Savva acted without thinking, slamming the boy into the nearby lockers. "I would dare say that by punching you Miss Hathaway expressed quite clearly that she _did not _enjoy you putting your filthy hands on her body, Mister Drozdov. Furthermore, if I ever hear of you touching her in an inappropriate manner in the future, I will beat you into unconsciousness and leave your body outside the wards as a snack for any passing Strigoi. Do I make myself clear?"

"You can't threaten me—"

"It is not a threat, boy, it is a promise. And you will find that I can and will do exactly as I say. I am not one of the campus guardians, I am one of her Majesty's elite guard. I am normally stationed at The Depository."

The boy stared at him, horrified as he processed the words. The Depository was a place where the Moroi council sent people they wanted to vanish—and everyone had heard horror stories about what happened to the prisoners there at the hands of the elite guard. "It won't happen again sir. I swear."

Savva nodded. "Report to Guardian Petrov immediately. I suggest you tell her exactly what you did, and leave nothing out. I will be checking in with her shortly." He shoved the boy away, watching as he hurried down the hall. As he turned, he was embarrassed to find Rose standing a few feet away, watching him in an appraising manner.

"Thank you, Savva." She smiled at him.

He nodded, bowing slightly. "You are welcome Rose. Now if you could point me to the cafeteria…"

"That way."

He started off in the direction, only to be stopped a moment later as she tugged on his sleeve. He winced, hoping she wasn't going to ask about the threats he'd made. "Yes Rose?"

"How did you know I was there? By the tree?"

He smiled at her inquisitive expression. "It was easy, malenkaya. I watched how your shadow moved."

"My shadow?"

"Yes, Rose. You see, trees usually don't fidget." With that, he left her and hurried to the cafeteria, eager to return to Mikhail Tanner's room. Right now, he would focus on Sonya Karp and her lover. He'd have to remember to check in with Petrov, but that would have to wait until later. Then, he and Petrov would have a little chat about Guardian Nichols and the way he'd misjudged poor little Roza.


	4. Chapter 4

When Savva returned to the room carrying a tray overflowing with food, Mikhail was sitting at the small table waiting for him. Carefully setting the tray on the table, he studied the other man with a critical eye. Tanner looked noticeably different from the stringy haired, scraggly faced creature that he'd first met. The heat of the shower had given his skin a rosy, healthy glow, and Savva was pleased to see that he'd made an effort to shave and comb his hair. Unfortunately, his eyes betrayed the inner turmoil that was raging within him. All the dark, fathomless pain he felt was still on display for the world to see.

"Tell me about my Sonya. How bad is she?"

"First you must eat, sir. You must keep your strength up. Your Sonya would be very upset with me if I did not look after you."

"Let me guess—you're not going to tell me anything unless I comply, right?" Mikhail stared at the older man with a menacing expression.

Savva inclined his head in agreement, reaching down to take one of the steaming cups of coffee before pushing the tray gently across the table. With a muttered curse Tanner picked up a sandwich, biting into it almost savagely as he glared across the table.

Savva blew into the cup, trying to cool the contents. "Tell me, what is her favorite flower?"

Tanner stopped mid-bite. "What?"

"Flowers. What are your Sonya's favorites?"

"Sunflowers. Why?"

Reaching into his interior jacket pocket, Savva produced a small, battered notepad and pen. Jotting something down, he gave Mikhail a sad smile. "When my… Sofiya struggled, sometimes being around things that she had always loved… it helped to keep her grounded in reality. I am hoping the same thing will help Madam Karp."

"Why are you doing this? What exactly is your game, Luzhkov?" Mikhail's voice was laced with suspicion.

"I have read the reports. She is a good woman. She does not deserve this. No one does. This illness of the mind she has… It is a terrible thing."

"No one is as thoughtful as you're making yourself appear to be. I ask again, what do you have to gain by helping her? Maybe you hope to win her trust… her gratitude. Maybe you plan to take advantage of her since you have easy access to a defenseless woman!"

Savva frowned, feeling the faint burn of anger in his stomach. "Speak plainly boy—do not sugar coat your words. You think… you insinuate that I would…how do you say—have my way with her? Force intimacies on her?" He watched the other man, his anger growing at an alarming rate as he considered the demeaning assumption. "You do me a grave disservice. I have been with one woman in my life and I will not change that. I have seen the horror of rape firsthand—Moroi scum ravaged my woman and that is what led to her—" He broke off, setting his cup down and shoving his chair away from the table. His breath was coming in quick, hard bursts, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to control himself. "You insult someone who only seeks to aide you."

Tanner looked away. "I'm sorry. I just don't understand. I don't—"

Savva cut him off. "What is so hard to comprehend, boy? That there is goodness in the world? That perhaps some people care more about doing what is decent and right than following the rules? That a man can put the needs of someone in pain over all else? If that is the case, I pity you greatly. There _is_ good in the world, Mikhail Tanner, but you have to be open to it."

Mikhail sat in silence, head tilted back and eyes closed. A single tear ran down his cheek, and he wiped at it before speaking. "Blue."

"Pardon?" Savva arched a dark eyebrow, confused.

"She loves the color blue. And waltz music. Obscure Russian poets." Picking up the half eaten sandwich, he studied it. "She loves chocolate, and gardens. Dancing in a warm spring rain. Reading. Children."

The gut wrenching anger vanished instantly, washed away as a wave of empathy filled him. He could feel the other man's intense sorrow as if it were his own. It was a gift he'd had since childhood, one he'd inherited from his mother's family. She came from a long line of prophets and seers, healers and telepaths. He'd thought that perhaps he was able to soothe and calm Sofiya so easily because he could sense her feelings. But this… never before had he shared so intensely. Perhaps it was because he knew these emotions on a personal level. He'd lived with them for fourteen years, ever since he'd lost her. He struggled to overcome the feelings—knowing he needed to comfort the man in front of him, lest he lose control of his own never-ending grief.

"And you." Savva said, reaching across the table and clasping his hand on Mikhail's shoulder. She loves you."

"I love her so much. I hope she knows that. I was going to propose the night they took her."

"She knows, Misha. She wanted me to tell you that she was sorry she couldn't control it. She asks for you constantly."

Tanner gazed at him with bleary, half dead eyes. "That's what she calls me. Misha. Is there any way you could… Any way to get me in there? I must see her, Savva. I have to tell her how much she means to me, before it's too late."

Savva sighed, dropping his hand to the table. He splayed his fingers against the surface, studying the scattering of scars across the back of his broad hand. "Perhaps in time, I can think of something, but right now—it is impossible. I'm sorry. I have a high clearance level, for a guardian, but granting her visitors… that is not in my power. The warden… he would not allow it. He is a cold man." He looked up, meeting Tanner's gaze head on. "I wish I could do more for you. I _am_ truly sorry that I cannot sneak you in."

"Don't be. You're risking a lot just by being here." Mikhail took another bite of the sandwich, his expression contemplative. "It's strange, but your words… they give me hope that somehow this will all work out. Knowing that you'll help me… Why is that? Why do I feel like I can trust you?"

"Because something in you recognizes that we are the same, you and I. We would both go to hell and back for someone we love. Your Sonya… she is so like Sofiya. She could be her daughter. I look at her and I see what could have been, had my love not been taken away. Our daughter…" His voice broke, and for the first time in years, Savva gave into his grief in front of another living being. It was as he'd feared—when Tanner's strong emotions had danced through the room, they'd opened up the wounds he had deep within him, wounds that never really healed, effectively ripping the scabs off and leaving his insides raw and bleeding. "Sofiya was pregnant when they raped her. I had been sent on a trip to enlist future novices, starting at Koryakskiy and working my way southward, back to Saint Basil's, village by village. The bastards knew I would be gone for at least a month, leaving her unprotected for the first time in her life. They took her captive and violated her in the cruelest ways imaginable. They'd always mocked us, the Badica princess and her dhampir lover— they called me her guard dog. She cried in my arms and told me that she called out for me again and again, begging me to save her, and those fine, upstanding Moroi lords taunted her, asking why her dog did not come when she called out for him." He collapsed his head down onto his arms, resting against the table, grappling with the grief that lived within his soul.

"I'm sorry, Savva. So sorry." Mikhail watched the older dhampirs shoulders shake as sobs racked his large, stocky body. "If you need to get it out—to talk about it—I'm here. I'll listen."

Savva sat up abruptly, scrubbing at his face with his palms , his breathing hitched and shaky as he conquered his anguish. "Not now. I cannot do it now. In time… maybe. But now…" Closing his eyes he concentrated, struggling to clamp down the mental walls that held his emotions at bay. "Now we need to concentrate on those that can be helped. Sofiya is gone. Sonya is not. We must save her."

Once he had completely calmed, they talked a bit more about little things that might help him keep Sonya sane. Savva made notes in his ragged notepad, then compiled a list of things he would need. Finally, he pulled out a small camera and snapped several pictures of Tanner, even one of him holding out the small box containing the ring he had purchased for his love.

"I will be leaving in the morning, Misha." Savva shoved the camera back in his pocket, offering the man his hand. "I would like you to write her a letter tonight. I will pick it up before I go."

Tanner stared at the outstretched hand and ignored it, pulling the larger man into a fierce embrace. "Thank you. I owe you so much for this, Savva. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Extracting himself, Savva gave a sad smile. "I do know, Misha. Letters from Sofiya were the one bright spot in my life, after she… Well, eventually they stopped coming. Still, every day when I check the mail, I hope to find one waiting for me."

Mikhail gaped at him, his confusion apparent. "But… I thought she was dead?"

Savva paused at the door, his broad shoulders stiffening as his body tensed. Not turning to look at Mikhail, his answer came out sounding like a low, threatening growl. "She is. But still… I can't stop waiting… hoping that somehow, things will turn out differently. It is similar to reading a favorite cherished book that has a tragic ending. Each time you re-read it, you pray for the hero to save the maiden, knowing it does not happen in the end. Hope springs eternal, Misha, even when dealing with a cause that has been completely lost."

Shutting the door quietly behind him, he made his way back to his borrowed room, deep in thought. He regretted losing control in front of Tanner. All his life, he had ruled over his emotions—except where Sofiya was concerned. Simply the thought of her shattered the carefully constructed walls he had spent so many years building.

He knew that tonight he would relive everything he had disclosed to Mikhail, his words fueling the images that would invade his sleeping mind. As always, it would start out with complete blissful happiness. That would change, all too soon, into complete and total horror.

He collapsed on the narrow bed, a fresh wave of agony and desolation tearing through his soul. As dawn peeked over the horizon, Savva Luzhkov cried himself to sleep in the manner of a small child that missed his mother and was stranded, far away from home. Sofiya was waiting for him in his dreams, just as sweet and beautiful as she had been on that horrible long ago night, fourteen years in the past.

* * *

Her pregnancy had not been planned, but that did not make it unwelcome. They were still unwed, but that would change soon enough—her eighteenth birthday was only seven months away. Every day he woke smiling, kissing the still flat stomach of the woman he loved, reveling in the fact that growing within her was a tiny testament to their passion and complete devotion to each other.

They bantered over names for days, finally settling on Katya for a girl and Maksim if it were a boy. Both names came from her family, and it pleased her greatly that he wanted their child to carry on her families traditions. He didn't really care if the child had a Badica name, as long as the child and his Sofiya were healthy.

The wealth and power of her family were so great that they were given a small cottage on the school grounds to use as their own. Even though she was still a student, the headmaster granted her permission to move out of her dormitory—an unprecedented occurrence that caused quite the scandal. As always, they ignored the whispers and pointed glances, wrapped in a bubble of happiness that no one could invade.

Sofiya decorated the small cottage with love, creating a cozy home for them that was beyond his wildest fantasies. He would sit and watch her as she attempted to knit small things for their unborn babe, the firelight reflecting off her long, dark hair and making it shine. Always she would catch him staring and reward him with her beautiful smile—a smile he could never resist. So many nights her smile resulted in the frantic removal of clothing as their bodies sprawled before the fire, joining together in a dance as old as time itself. They were happy. So very, very happy.

She was four months pregnant when he received the order to travel all the way to Koryakskiy. He argued with his superiors, stating he could not leave her side. They insisted he go, claiming that as the newest, youngest member of the schools guardian ranks, it was his duty to go among the villages and communes, convincing the parents that resided there to sign their offspring up for the Academy. It disgusted him—the mere thought of convincing young, impressionable dhampirs to sign away their children's lives to the Moroi left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was bad enough that so many parents enrolled their children as soon as they could walk, but to be the one convincing them to do it? He could not bear it. He would rather quit the ranks and lose his title than partake in enslaving children into a future they may not want. Not even Sofiya could understand his feelings.

"Savva, I thought you liked being a guardian." Her hands were weaving through his hair as his head rested in her lap. He had just finished a thirty-minute rant, damning the ruling council to hell for crimes against his people.

He sighed, capturing her hand and gently kissing her palm. "I do, my love. But it was not my choice. My mother signed me up for the academy the summer I met you. Children… they should be allowed to choose what they want to be. We are not slaves or indentured servants, no matter what the Moroi think."

"But—"

"The way they treat us, Sofochka… It is servitude, pure and simple. A type of… debt bondage. Only instead of holding money over our head, they hold the fact that dhampirs cannot breed together. They know we do not want our race to die out, so they pull our strings like puppet masters."

"So you don't want to be a guardian." Her voice betrayed her confusion.

He sat up, pulling her to his side. "Yes, I do. I would have signed up for the academy, because I want to protect others… to protect you. But I do not agree that it should be demanded of dhampirs. I do not agree that it is their duty to serve the Moroi. It should be their choice. Our children should not have it drummed into their heads from infant hood as the only acceptable choice."

"So tell them that—the dhampir parents. Go on this trip and please the council, but use it as an opportunity to share your views with your people." She cuddled against him, her head in the crook of his neck. "I am proud of you, Savva, for standing up for what you feel is right. Maybe you can convince others to share your beliefs—it would change our world for the better."

Her wise words convinced him, and a few days later he bid her goodbye. Their parting was tearful, to say the least. It would be the longest separation they had ever experienced, the first time in eleven years that they did not see each other every single day. To most, a month apart would seem like nothing in the grand span of life, nut to Savva, it was agony. Every day felt like a month—by the time his trip was nearing its end, he was frantic to see her. To hear her voice and kiss her soft lips as he held her in his arms—those were the things he dreamed of each night in his cold and lonely rented beds.

His trip was almost over when it happened. He had only two more communes to visit, having worked his way down from the far north, where the cold wind chilled his bones and the snow had numbed his poor, tired feet. Why they had mapped out such a ridiculous course was beyond him. Instead of scheduling his visits by lining the villages up on a map, sometimes he found himself backtracking, driving hours out of his way to visit a commune that he'd passed the day before. Still, he did it, following the schedule his superiors had mapped out—although he did allow himself the freedom to mutter about their idiocy in the privacy of his vehicle while driving from place to place.

His vehicle broke down before he reached his next destination—luckily it was within walking distance. Luckier still, he had an aunt who resided in this commune, so there was a place for him to stay while he waited for the dilapidated car to be repaired. Within a few hours he was sitting in a cozy, comforting kitchen, devouring a warm bowl of porridge.

His beloved aunt—whom he had not seen in years—was out, but her daughter had welcomed him with open arms, calling and arranging to have his car towed as soon as she had him settled at the table. They made pleasant small talk, catching up on what had happened in the years since they'd last seen each other face to face. Since leaving the academy she'd had three fine children, two lovely daughters and a handsome, strong looking boy. The later watched him with large, fascinated dark eyes and a solemn expression on his young face.

"How old are you, little man," he asked, smiling at the boy.

"Seven."

"Seven going on fifty," the boys mother replied, ruffling the child's hair as she stood, taking Savva's bowl to the stove and refilling it. "He is such a quiet child—never any trouble. He is almost too serious for his own good."

Savva nodded his thanks as he accepted the bowl. "You are big for your age. I thought you were perhaps ten or eleven."

The boys lips lifted in a small smile as he shrugged his shoulders. Savva returned the smile, studying his young second cousin with appraising eyes. The boy's dark brown hair brushed the collar of his shirt, and his large brown eyes held a strange, wise look that seemed out of place on one so young. He'd had his nose buried in a book when Savva first entered the residence. Now, knowing the boy's true age, Savva was amazed that the seven year old was advanced enough to read and comprehend such a large, thick novel.

"Are you really a guardian at Saint Basil's?" The child asked, still watching his every movement carefully, as if committing it to memory.

"Yes, I am, would you like to see my marks?"

When the child nodded, Savva leaned over, pulling his hair away from his neck, exposing his promise mark and the four molnijas. He felt the child's long, delicate fingers tracing slowly over his skin.

"You've killed four Strigoi," the boy whispered.

"Yes. Several times they have tried to ambush my charge when I've taken her into town."

"Savva guards a Badica." His cousin said, smiling fondly at her son.

"My grandmother has been training me for over two years. In a few months I'll be attending Saint Basil's," the boy said, reclaiming his seat. "Will you be one of my instructors?"

"It's possible." Savva pushed the bowl away, frowning at his cousin. "You enrolled him already?"

"His father did. He will only be a part time student at first, to help him acclimate."

Savva turned to the boy, motioning him over and pulling him onto his lap. It was difficult—the boy was almost too big to cuddle in such a manner. His arms and legs were long and lightly muscled, reminding the older dhampire of a spindly young colt. "Is that what you want, little man? To be a guardian?"

"Yes."

Savva grimaced at the shortness of the boy's answer. "Why? Because it is expected of you? Because you've been told it was your duty?"

"Well…" The boy cocked his head, as if considering his words. "Partly. I want to do my part—but more than that, I want to help people. I want to protect them from the Strigoi. I want to make a difference."

Savva nodded. The boy's face had lit up while he answered, almost lit from within by some inner fire. "You realize that it is a hard life. You must sacrifice many things in order to reach your goal. And once you graduate… You will be responsible for someones life, Dima."

The boy cringed, scrabbling out of his lap and hastening to his mother's side. Savva looked at him, shocked at the frightened expression on his small face—a face that had gone ghostly pale. "What is it? What did I—"

"That is what his father calls him." She looked at the boy, smoothing the hair back from his forehead. "Go read your book while I talk to Savva, Dimka. You can talk about guardianship later, alright?"

The boy hugged her tightly for a moment, releasing a heavy, weary sigh. He pulled away from her, and glanced over at Savva. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have startled you like that. It was impolite."

Watching the boy's lanky frame retreat into the sitting room, Savva frowned, not understanding what he'd just witnessed. He turned to Olena, waiting for an explanation. She looked out the window, her cheeks flushed. The movement of her hands caught his eye as she twisted them together in a nervous manner.

"His father… drinks. When he does, his temper gets the better of him."

"He has hurt your son?" Savva felt his muscles tensing at the thought of that bright, strong boy suffering.

"No… he's never hurt the children." A tear spilled down her cheek. "He doesn't mean it. He is a good man, but—"

"He is _not_ a good man," he hissed through gritted teeth. "If he raises a hand against you he is scum and I will deal with him. I want his name."

"No Savva. He would ruin you. He's a royal—"

"I do not care if he is a goddamned king—he dares to abuse you! Olena, the mere use of a nickname terrified your boy—I will not stand for it. Dimitri's reaction should speak for itself—a child does not pale and quiver in fear for no reason. The bastard has obviously done something to frighten him."

"A few slaps as punishment, nothing more."

"A few slaps." Savva glared at her. "I should take all three of your children out of this house immediately. I cannot believe that Yeva stands for this!" He stood, pushing his chair back. When she started to rise he stopped her with a pointed look. "No. I am going to talk to the boy. Right now I cannot be around you. I am ashamed of what you have become, cousin."

The boy was sitting on the sofa, his face resting on the palm of his hand as he stared off into space as if he were in a trance. The book was clasped in his other hand, apparently forgotten. The only acknowledgement he gave Savva was a slight wince as the man settled down beside him.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there, little man. I had no way of knowing that nickname would disturb you."

"I'm fine. I shouldn't have let it affect me like that."

He studied the boy's face, saddened to see the warm brown eyes looking flat and lifeless. It was as if the child had closed off his emotions, hiding them away. Sighing, he glanced at the book. "What is this book about? You seemed fascinated by it when I arrived."

"The olden days, when there were cowboys."

Savva laughed. "There are still cowboys, Dimitri."

"Yes, but they're not the same," the boy said dismissively. They don't fight bad guys anymore."

"Perhaps some do. Maybe I'm a cowboy and you just don't realize it."

The boy glanced over at him, frowning. "Now you're making fun of me."

"No! Just stop and think for a moment. Cowboys in the old West fought for what was right. They protected people. Isn't that what I do?"

"Yes, but—"

No buts. Maybe I don't wear a twenty gallon hat…" He paused, pleased to see the boys lips twitch as if he were fighting a smile.

"Ten gallon hat." Dimitri corrected.

"Yes, of course—my mistake. As I was saying, I don't wear a funny hat, but still I protect people from the bad guys. I try to uphold what is right and good, just like Marshal Wyatt Earp or one of those fellows. So perhaps being a cowboy is all a state of mind." He watched as his young second cousin pondered his words, seeming as though he were taking them to heart. "Anyone who stands up for what is right and protects others could consider themselves a cowboy, little man. I think that perhaps you are a cowboy in the making."

The boy's eyes widened. "You think so?"  
"I know so." Savva nodded. "What you said in the kitchen, about wanting to help and protect people, and making a difference… that is proof that you have the heart of a cowboy."

Dimitri nodded slowly. "Thank you."

Savva gnawed at his lip, unsure how to brooch the boy's father, but knowing it must be done. "Dimitri, I want you to promise me something. If your… if that man ever hurts you or your sisters, I want you to call me. Immediately." He dug around in his pocket, producing a grubby card. "You call that number and tell them it is a family emergency—they will find me. Can you promise me that?"

The boy took the card, staring down at it. "Why? What would you do?"

"I will drive here faster than the wind and beat the living shit out of him. He will not touch you again, I promise. I will kill him first."

The boys eyes filled with tears. "What about Mama? He hurts her too."

Savva sighed. "Your mother is a grown woman. She knows that what he does to her is wrong, but sometimes, if you love someone… it gets complicated, little man. She loves him more than herself, I think. Or maybe she is just frightened. I don't know. But it is her decision—she could stop him, and maybe someday she will. If I interfered… she would hold it against me. But you…you're still a boy, and you need protecting, just like your sisters do. I cannot sit by and let him abuse children."

Scrubbing at his eyes, the boy nodded. "I promise—if he tries to hurt us, I'll find a way to call you."

"You're a brave boy, Dimitri Belikov. Someday you will make a fine guardian."

"Everyone calls me Dimka… you can too."

Save shook his head. "No, I think not. I think I will have a special name for my favorite little cousin. Perhaps Mitya. How does that sound?"

Before the boy could answer, the door burst open, his aunt rushing into the room dragging two small girls behind her. Her eyes immediately found Savva, and something about the expression on her face turned his blood to ice. He remembered it from childhood—her eyes had the crazed look that often accompanied her visions.

"Savva—you must go, now. Your woman… they…. She's injured, in an abandoned barn near a lake on the Academy grounds." Shaking her head, she pressed her keys into his hand. "Go. As fast as you can. If you don't, it will be too late."

Without another word Savva bolted through the door, terrified beyond belief. Yeva's visions were always accurate. If she said Sofiya was in danger, then it was the complete and absolute truth. The drive between Baia and Saint Basil's normally took three hours, but he made it in two. As soon as he was granted admittance he demanded the guardian on duty send backup to the location his aunt had described. He knew exactly where she had been describing, he'd often taken Sofiya there when they were younger and she felt out of sorts.

She was lying unconscious in a pool of blood, her beautiful hair matted and filthy, her clothing shredded beyond recognition. Her pale skin was covered with bruises and bite marks, barely an inch remained unscathed. Gathering her in his arms he rushed her to the clinic, demanding the guardians secure the building to prevent anyone from tampering with the scene as he brushed past them.

The medical staff whisked her away from him, leaving him sobbing and shaking on his knees in the small, utilitarian lobby. Hours passed before a doctor emerged, his face somber as he spoke in a low monotone. Sofiya was in critical condition. From what they could determine, she'd been raped repeatedly—and due to either the severity of the sexual assault or the beating, she had lost their baby.

* * *

Savva sat upright in bed, his body covered with sweat, his body shaking with horror as the doctors words echoed through his mind. His eyes flicked around the room, his pulse slowly dropping as he realized he wasn't in the clinic at Saint Basil's, but instead in a dorm room, fourteen years away from the night he'd been reliving in his dream. Wiping away the tears that coated his cheeks, he buried his face in the pillow, gritting his teeth. He would not sleep again—the dream was still too near. Instead he would simply lie awake, counting down the hours until sunset, trying his best to lock away his tragic memories.


	5. Chapter 5

Savva finally gave up, unable to clear his mind while trapped within the four walls surrounding him. His thoughts were too dark and morose, making him feel imprisoned. The only chance he had of snapping out of the black mood that gripped him would be by keeping himself busy. Dressing quickly, he left the room, wandering outside to revel in the waning daylight.

He hated living by a nocturnal schedule—it had been something that had plagued him since childhood. Just as the Moroi part of him embraced the darkness, the human half of him craved the feeling of sunlight dancing across his skin. It was an eternal struggle within him, neither side ever fully satisfied. He'd always wondered if all dhampirs felt as if their dual nature was battling within, or if it only happened to him. If he worked at an Academy like this one, he would be able to request shifts that allowed him to patrol during the human daytime. That was not the case at Dyepozitariy. Requests for partial shifts in the sunlight always went unanswered—and the guardian requesting them inevitably received strictly nocturnal shifts for daring to ask. It was just another way the Moroi warden kept the lowly dhampirs in line. He refused to grant even the most miniscule of things that would make their life more bearable.

He made his way to the large cafeteria, pleased to find that it was still deserted due to the early hour. The only people present were the kitchen staff, busy preparing food for the upcoming day. He'd had the pleasure of meeting the dhampir in charge yesterday, a large, portly woman in her sixties. Her name was Natalia, and with a bit of sweet talking, he convinced her to prepare him two large orders of Olad'yi. The Russian pancakes were buttery and moist, reminding him of the childhood breakfasts his mother had made so many years before.

As soon as he finished his food, Natalia appeared at his side, a large, beaming smile on her face. He thanked her profusely as she handed him a tray containing a large covered plate and a small pitcher of strawberry syrup. Pinching his cheek in a grandmotherly fashion she escorted him to the door, promising to make him Sirniki the next time he entered her domain.

Her warm, comforting manner improved his mood greatly. He was, in fact, smiling when he knocked on Tanner's door. After a brief wait the door opened, and he felt his smile falter. Tanner looked as though he had been up all night, and it appeared that all the good work Savva had done the night before had faded away with the sunlight.

"I have your breakfast, Misha," he said, gesturing to the tray. Removing the cover from the plate, he forced himself to speak in a bright, cheerful tone, ignoring the other man's red eyes and disheveled appearance. "Look what the lovely Natalia prepare, just for you. Olad'yi! I dare say no one else on this campus has ever had so fine a breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"But you will eat them, nonetheless. Or I will be forced to tell your Sonya that you refused to cooperate with me. With all that lovely red in her hair, I'm certain she has a temper—do you want to displease her?"

Mikhail glared at him, taking the tray over to the table and collapsing in a chair. "These are just fucking pancakes, Savva."

"Oh no, my friend. These are a million times better than American pancakes. They are much more buttery and delectable. Try them, you'll see." Savva encouraged.

Dousing the plate with the warm red syrup, Mikhail grudgingly took a bite. Savva almost laughed at the stunned expression on the other man's face. "Did I not tell you? I think in Paradise, people must eat like this."

Tanner rolled his eyes at the statement, but proceeded to clean his plate in record time, even going so far as to use his finger to wipe up the remaining syrup. "You were right. They were delicious."

"The next time you are near the kitchens, make sure to tell Natalia that. I think not often do the people here take time to verbally appreciate her skills." Savva sat down, rubbing his hands together. "If you asked nicely and grant her a smile, she might even make them for you again."

Mikhail nodded, wiping his mouth with the napkin before dropping it on the plate. "I wrote her a letter. It took me all night to get it right, but it's finished. I was wondering…"

"Yes?" Savva coaxed, encouraged to hear that the man had not been up all night due to his grief, but instead to complete the task he'd been given.

"Could you perhaps take her a few of her own things? Her favorite sweater or one of the books she loved?"

"Of course, Misha. What a very good idea. I'm surprised I did not think of it." Savva smiled as Tanner walked over to the dresser, producing both items from a bottom drawer.

"I got them from her room last night, just in case you'd agree." Handing them over, he chewed at his bottom lip. "When can I expect to hear from you again?"

"In two days time, if not sooner. I promise I will call you as soon as I see her. Well, as soon as my shift ends, that is. The way Dyepozitariy is built—she is many levels underground. My phone does not work in the depths of the building. If it did, I would try and find a way to let you speak with her."

Again Tanner surprised him with a manly embrace. "Take care of her for me, Savva. Please. Tell her I'll find some way to be with her."

"I will my friend. But now, if you will give me the letter, I have a few things I must tend to before I return home."

* * *

Tanner had advised him of Guardian Nichols room number, and he'd had a brief meeting with the man regarding young Rose. When he left the young guardian, the man had been almost quivering in fear. It was pathetic that such a bully was instructing young, impressionable novices, and Savva said as much to Alberta Petrov a short while later in her office.

"The man witnessed a Moroi sexually harassing Rose, and he punished _her _for standing up for herself. He should not be acting as a teacher, madam."

"If you call me madam one more time, we're going to have an issue, Luzhkov. It makes me feel like a grandmother." Alberta leaned back in her chair, her hands locked across her stomach. "I'll speak with Nichols. I won't stand for dhampir girls to be treated that way. Some Moroi seem to think we're all nothing more than blood whores in the making."

"With respect, mada—" he caught himself in a nick of time, offering a faint smile. "Alberta, I have spoken with him. I believe Nichols has a new respect for young Rose. Still, the man should only be used for patrols. Surely there is someone else who can take over the classroom."

"I'll look into it." She sat up, arching a pale brow as she studied him. "When you say he has a new respect for Rose… Does that mean you scared the shit out of him?"

"Me? What could be scary about a short, unassuming man like me?" Savva asked with a straight face.

Alberta laughed outright. "Luzhkov, I pulled up your record on the database. You've got almost as many kills as Arthur, and that makes you pretty fucking scary, in my opinion. What I don't get is why they've got you working at Dyepozitariy. With your skills, you should be on the guardian council, or at a member of the royal guard."

"I was offered both positions. I declined." Running his hands through his hair, he sighed. "After what happened… I wanted to be away from the world. Dyepozitariy offers me that."

"She wouldn't want you to have stopped living, Savva," she offered quietly. "She would want you to be happy."

"My happiness died the moment my Sofiya took her last breath, Guardian Petrov. Only when I rejoin her in the afterlife will I again be happy." He stood, indicating the meeting was over.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push. I hope we'll see each other again in the future. Remember, I'll always have room for you here. A few students could use a mentor like you, Rose being one of them."

"Perhaps… Someday."

Shaking her hand, he left her office, heading for the parking lot. He'd almost reached his destination when he heard the pounding of feet approaching him. Pivoting, he was immediately thrown off balance as someone barreled into him, bouncing off his broad chest and landing on her rear in the pathway.

"Got you that time!" Rose crowed proudly, oblivious to the fact that he was still standing and she was the one on the ground.

Chuckling, he reached down, helping her to her feet. "That you did Rose. Had you been a tad quicker, I dare say I might have landed flat on my face."

As she opened her mouth to respond, her eyes landed on the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Her pretty face twisted into a ferocious looking scowl of displeasure. "Wait a minute—you're leaving? Already? You just got here!"

"I have to get back to work. I have a very long drive in front of me, malenkaya."

"We didn't even get a chance to talk about my mom," she pouted prettily. "I guess you didn't even think to say goodbye, huh?"

He studied her face, taking in each individual detail. She was so like her father. Like Sonya Karp, Rose Hathaway made him think of what might have been. She was almost the perfect age, just a year older than his long lost child. Had the babe taken after Savva, it would have had Rose's coloring and features. Smiling softly, he ran his hand over her dark, wavy hair. "To be honest, Rose, I couldn't bear the thought of it. I'm not fond of goodbyes. I've had way too many of them in my life."

Her expression darkened as she puzzled over his words. "Can't you stay a little longer? What if Nichols gives me shit today?"

"Ach!" He clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock dismay. "Such language! Gutter language has no place coming from such a pretty girl. Nichols will not trouble you again, malenkaya, I promise you that."

"I'm pretty sure you promised to call me Rose, Savva." She glared at him, kicking at the dirt in frustration. Her brow was furrowed , and he could almost see the wheels spinning in her head, and could sense that she was searching for another reason to make him stay.

"Such a ferocious expression Rose! Smile for me, and I promise I'll come back to visit soon."

"You better—I wanted to introduce you to Lissa."

"And who is this Lissa, one of your classmates," he asked.

"Vasilisa Dragomir. She's my best friend. I'm going to be her guardian when I graduate."

He studied her, internally cringing at the thought of her giving up her life to become a guardian. She was so lovely and so full of life. To join the ranks, she would lose so much. They would break her spirit and drown the bright, rebellious spark he sensed within her. "There are other options for you Rose. You could become a doctor, or perhaps a teacher. Are you sure that you want to give your life to the Moroi?"

She appeared absolutely appalled by his question. "Of course—I've known I was going to be Lissa's guardian since I was five!"

"But why, malenkaya? Because that's what the Academy has told you is expected? Are you really sure—"

She cut him off. "No! I want to because it's my job to help her… to protect her. I want to make a difference—I _will _keep her safe, no matter what anyone says!"

As she spoke, he watched her, a small smile tugging at his lips/ The conviction in her voice and the fierce expression on her face reminded him of a long ago discussion where he had received a similar answer.

"What the hell are you grinning at? You think I won't be able to do it?"

"No, you just remind me very much of my little cousin. He has the same passion for helping others as you do, and he once gave me almost the exact same answer."

"He wants to be a guardian? Is he here—is that who you came to see?"

Savva stared off into the trees, thinking about his family. "No, he is quite a bit older than you. I think he is probably already a guardian, unless perhaps he did poorly at the academy. I do not know, I have not spoken with my family in many, many years."

When she did not respond, he glanced over at her, a flash of panic shooting through him as he saw the strange, glazed expression in her eyes. She stood frozen, like a statue, her face expressionless. "Rose? Are you alright malenkaya?" When she did not respond, he gently took her shoulders and gave her a small shake. "Rose?"

With a shake of her head she came back to life, shooting him a lopsided grin. "I'm fine. I have to go, Lissa's looking for me. Have a safe trip—and you better keep your promise."

She started to pull away from his hands—which still rested on her narrow shoulders—and then, unexpectedly, threw her arms around his waist, giving him a quick hug. "Thanks for taking up for me with Nichols. I owe you one."

She pulled away and he watched her race back towards the school, pausing once to turn and wave in his direction. His lips twitched up, a happy smile brightening his normally stoic face. He couldn't wipe it away, because the thought of her impulsive hug kept it in place. As he started his car he shook his head, wondering if everyone was as effected by Rose Hathaway as he was. If he were a betting man, he'd wager that they were, she was just that kind of girl.

All the way back to Dyepozitariy he pondered over how he might smuggle things into Sonya. Some things, like the photographs he'd taken or the tiny book of poetry that Mikhail had given him would pose no problem—they would fit easily into one of the interior pockets of the black leather jacket that was part of his uniform. But other items, like the sunflowers or the chocolates… those would be more difficult. For twenty two hours he mulled over the problem, dismissing every thing he came up with as too risky.

He was a few miles away from the prison compound when he came up with a brilliant solution. One that would kill two birds with the same stone, getting the items into the prison and also explaining his sudden vacation. Pulling over onto the shoulder, he pulled out a business card and his cellphone. When a sleepy sounding female voice answered, he quickly apologized for the late hour and outlined his plan, explaining what he hoped to accomplish. She agreed immediately, refusing when tried to give her information regarding his credit card. Smiling, he terminated the call, pulling back onto the desolate road that led to the grim compound he called home.

The next evening when he entered the guardian staff room, he ignored the massive flower arrangement that was sitting on the counter. Pouring himself a cup of coffee he leaned against the sink, studying the amused faces of the men seated around the large, spacious room. He knew what they found so amusing, but pretended to be in the dark about it.

"Why are you all staring at me? Is there something on my face?" Savva set down his mug, scrubbing at his face with his palms.

"So when were you going to tell us," someone asked.

"Tell you what?"

"About your new girlfriend. The one that sent you the flowers."

"What the hell are you talking about Johnson?" He glared at the blonde man, pleased when he broke eye contact with a scared expression on his face.

"The sunflowers on the counter, Savva. They came sometime last night." A tall brunette woman sauntered over to the counter, plucking the envelope out of the display, a sly smile on her face. "Mind if I read it?"

Savva shrugged. "Help yourself Matilda."

She pulled out the card with a dramatic gesture, her eyes widening at the message. "You have been keeping secrets." Turning to face the room, she cleared her throat. "Thanks for a terrific time—I'm missing you already. Be sure to come back soon— I'll be waiting in the same place you left me—on the bed."

She paused as jeers and catcalls filled the air. When they died down, she handed him the card, smiling at the bright red blush that had bloomed across his face as he heard the suggestive message. "So who's this Alberta? Do we know her?"

"I doubt it." He cleared his throat. "She works at the Academy in Montana."

"Holy shit! _Alberta Petrov?_"

He glared at the man. "Yes Alberta Petrov, what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I just—I met her a couple times. She doesn't seem like your type at all." The speaker, a guardian named Barnes smirked at him from across the room.

"You know nothing about my _type_, boy. You know nothing about _me_. Alberta Petrov is a wonderful woman and a well respected guardian." Savva slammed down his mug, his expression furious.

"Yeah, well, she'd have to be, wouldn't she? Not everyone can get deliveries made here," Barnes shot back.

"Frankly it is none of your business." Snatching the flowers and chocolates off the counter, he ignored the immature noises the men were making. A hand on his arm stopped him as he was about to storm out the door. He turned to see Matilda smiling softly at him.

"I'm happy for you Savva. You deserve someone special."

Guilty flooded through him like a freight train. Pulling out a single flower, he handed it to the woman, touched by her kindness. "Thank you."

Ignoring her bemused expression as she studied the flower, he stalked off towards the doors leading down to Sonya Karp's cell. Now no one would question why he was carrying flowers—it had been obvious to everyone in the room that he'd taken them when he left in his uncharacteristic fit of rage, not wanting to deal with the other guardian's ill manned, merciless teasing.

Mission accomplished.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: First, thanks for the wonderful reviews, you guys seriously made me emotional, and that's pretty damned hard to do. **_

_**Second, the poem Savva reads to Sonya in this chapter is entitled 'A/The Little Bird' by Alexandr Pushkin. As I mention in the very first author's note, the poem was part of the inspiration for this story, and the title for this story was taken from the very last line of the poem. I do not own the poem or anything recognizable from the VA world. **_

_**Thanks for reading!  
**_

* * *

Sonya was sitting on the floor of her cell, facing into the corner. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her thin arms encircling them as she slowly rocked back and forth, softly humming. As Savva approached the guardian on duty—a man by the name of Whitlock—he recognized the tune as the same one he'd attempted to soothe her with several days before.

The man standing against the wall glanced over towards Savva, doing a double take when he noticed the large floral arrangement that the older man carried. His lips quivered, finally twitching up in a sly smile.

"Are those for me? You shouldn't have, Luzhkov, I'm more of an orchid kind of guy."

Savva set the flowers down near the wall, sighing dramatically. "Ach—now you're going to tease me? I received quite enough of that in the break room."

"Who'd you buy them for? No, don't tell me, let me guess. That cute Moroi secretary in the records department?"

"_I_ did not get them for anyone. They were delivered for me sometime last night."

"I see… Do you mind if I ask who was foolish enough to waste money buying flowers for you? No offense man, but you're not the friendliest fellow in the world."

"The lady friend that I went to visit—a guardian named Alberta Petrov." From the corner of his eye, Savva watched as Sonya stilled her movement, her head slowly turning in their direction.

"When you say friend, do you mean _friend_ or…" Whitlock wiggled his eyebrows with a lascivious expression on his face.

"She is a female companion, and that is all I'll say on the matter." He glared at the other man, holding out his hand for the radio and clipboard.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Savva cut him off. "No, I am sorry. I do not mean to be rude, but those imbecilic fools in the lounge have put me in an off color mood. I do not like being teased. That is why I brought the flowers with me, I didn't want everyone on staff to get wind of my... friendship. At least down here only you and Blake will see them, and now you've both had you're fun at my expense."

Whitlock nodded, heading for the door. "I didn't mean to give you shit Luzhkov. I was only kidding. No hard feelings, okay?"

"It is fine. Go, enjoy your lunch. If the others are still giggling at my expense, you might remind them I've been known to debilitate people who mock me."

As soon as the other guardian left, Sonya crawled towards the bars. He motioned for her to stay still, walking over to the door and listening carefully. When no sounds came from the other side, he hurried over to the cell, crouching down so he would be at her level.

"We must be quiet, madam. Remember I am not supposed to speak to you."

"Were you really there? At Saint Vlad's?" Her pale white hands grasped the bars, as she stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Yes. Those flowers are from your Mikhail. He said they were your favorites." He reached into his pocket and handed her the photos. "I cannot leave those with you, they might be found. But every day I promise I will bring them to you."

She flipped through the pictures, her fingers tracing along the images they contained. "He looks… tired. He needs to sleep. And he's lost weight! How has he lost so much weight in so little time?"

"He was not eating. But I made him. I told him you would be angry that he was not taking proper care of himself."

"Thank you. Is he—" She stopped talking, staring at the final picture in the small stack. He knew which one it was by the tears that filled her eyes. "Oh my God. Is that…"

"Yes madam. It is the ring he will place on your finger as soon as you leave this place. He was going to give it to you the night they… right before you came to this place. I also have a few more things for you." Standing, he walked over to the flowers, deftly removing the small box of chocolates attached to the bottom of the vase. "See here, chocolates! All for you. But you must eat them before I leave."

She grabbed the box, shoving one in her mouth then closing her eyes and letting out a small moan of pleasure. "Oh… it's heavenly."

"I am glad that you like it. Mikhail was very upset when I told him you were not eating. The two of you are peas in a pod, both wasting away and starving yourselves."

She stared down at the box—it was small, containing only four pieces. Looking up at him, she held it out in his direction. "Would you like a chocolate, Savva Luzhkov?"

"No, thank you. Those are for you. And so are these," He rummaged through his pockets, producing a fabric covered rubber band and the book of poems. "First pull your hair back, moya maliy ptitsa. Then you will properly be able to see the book."

She pulled her long hair back into a low ponytail, smiling at him. "Would you read one to me, Savva? I don't trust myself to handle the book, it is very valuable to me, it was my grandmothers. If I started to… have a spell, I'm afraid I might damage it."

"Certainly. Is there one you prefer?"

"Page ninety three, please."

He flipped through the pages, staring at the poem she'd requested. Glancing up to meet her eyes, he saw a warm smile on her pale, grimy face. "Shall I read it in English or in Russian?"

"English today, Russian tomorrow. It is one of my favorites."

"It is one of mine as well." He cleared his throat before beginning, speaking in a slow, clear voice. His accent touched the words, making them sound almost musical.

"In alien lands devoutly clinging  
To age-old rites of Russian earth,  
I let a captive bird go winging  
To greet the radiant spring's rebirth.  
My heart grew lighter then: why mutter  
Against God's providence, and rage,  
When I was free to set aflutter  
But one poor captive from his cage!"

"That's why you called me your little bird, isn't it Savva? This poem." She studied his face, her eyes filling with tears.

"Yes, it is. I hope it does not offend you, madam." He closed the book, embarrassed to feet a tear slide down his cheek.

"No, it was a lovely thought. May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did you go to Saint Vlad's? It's a long way away from here."

"To deliver your message to Misha. To take the photographs I showed you."

"But why? Why go to so much trouble for me?"

"You sound exactly like your lover, maliy ptitsa . He too had trouble believing that some people are kind for no reason. It saddens me to see two people who are so young and yet so terribly jaded."

She stared at her hands for a moment then looked up, her eyes filled with unasked questions. "The day you first spoke to me, you said I remind me of someone you knew. Will you tell me about her?"

He sighed staring off into the distance. "Would that make you happy? To hear about Sofiya?"

"Please. It would take my mind off this—" she gestured at the cell around her with a flourish, "for at least a little while."

Stretching his legs out in front of him, he leaned his side against the bars and told her about the first time he'd caught a glimpse of the girl that would always be the love of his life.

* * *

And so started what became their everyday ritual. Savva would sneak her in a treat, something small like a stick of peppermint candy or a bag of her favorite potato chips. He would sit on the floor beside her cell, leaning against the bars while Sonya mirrored him on the other side, their shoulders brushing through the gap. He would read her a poem—sometimes Tyutchev or Derzhavin, but more often than not Pushkin, and then he would tell her stories of his time in Russia with his beloved Sofiya. In the evenings he would call Tanner and replay what had happened and what she'd said, passing messages between the lovers—to the best of his limited ability.

He had yet to give her the letter, holding it back to use when the madness consumed her. The fact that it had not yet reappeared gave both of the men hope. They might have continued on that way, the madness remaining hidden, had fate not decided to stir the pot.

On the fourteenth day of Sonya's imprisonment, she fell asleep against the bars, her head partially resting on his shoulder. He began humming the melody she seemed to enjoy as he brushed away the hair that was stuck to her forehead.

The door opened so quietly that he completely failed to notice until a loud gasp of shock filled the small space.

"Guardian Luzhkov!"

He shot to his feet in shock, staring at Matilda Tsava and Carl Johnson, his mind spinning as he struggled to spin a lie they might find acceptable.

"Matilda, I—"

She held up her hand, staring at him. "Johnson, wait outside."

The young man stared at her, confused. "But—"

"Outside, now," she said, her voice like ice. As soon as the door closed behind him, her stern expression faded, changing into one of absolute pity. "Oh, Savva."

"It is not what your think, I swear by all that is holy." He twisted his hands in front of him, unable to meet her eye, knowing she must be assuming the worst.

"I went to Saint Basil's, Savva. You and Sofiya are a legend there, like Romeo and Juliet. There's even a memorial to her, with a picture of the two of you, hanging in one of the cabins. Ms. Karp looks a lot like her."

"Yes but… I was not behaving in an unjust manner, you must believe me. You see, Sofiya was… she our baby. My feelings toward Madam Karp are fatherly and nothing more."

"I believe you." She walked towards the cell where Sonya was huddled, now awake, shaking. "I won't tell anyone. I don't agree with the rules they've given us either. It seems like whatever you're doing down here has at least kept her calm."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Sonya screamed. "I can hear you! You're talking about me!"

Savva spun towards the cell, grasping the bars. "Calm down moya maliy ptitsa. Everything is fine. This lady is your friend, just as I am. She would never hurt you. Please."

Sonya stared at him, her hands knotting in her hair, her voice low and growling. "Don't talk about me! They'll find me if you do… They'll cut me open and dissect my brain. He told me they would."

"Who told you that? Who would tell you such a horrific lie, Sonya?" He watched as the sanity in her eyes drained away, replaced by a manic, crazed look as her body began twitching and spasming.

"I'll never tell you! Never!" Her laughter echoed off the stone walls, bouncing back at them.

Savva thrust his hand into his interior pocket, producing the long, white envelope with her name scrawled across the front. "Sonya, do you see this? Do you recognize the handwriting? It is from Misha. He asked me to deliver this to his beautiful girl."

Her head cocked to the side, reminding him of a predatory bird as she studied the envelope through the bars. Quick as a cobra her hand shot out in an attempt to snatch it from his grasp. She was fast, but Savva was faster, jerking it back at the last moment.

"No moya maliy ptitsa. Not until you calm down. You must be calm in order to read the love letter that he sent you. Breathe deeply. Think about Mikhail. It would hurt him to see you like this, dear one. It will break his heart if tonight I have to tell him that his Sonya was lost inside herself."

As he spoke in a soft soothing tone, his words seemed to penetrate the darkness inside her. Slowly her eyes returned to normal, and the frantic, jerky movements of her limbs ceased. In under five minutes, Sonya Karp had returned to them, without the need of medication.

"That's unbelievable!" Matilda stared into the cell, the wonder she felt reflected in her voice.

"Quiet!" Savva hissed. "Do not talk about her." Turning to Sonya, he smiled. "Do you know who I am, dear one?"

"Savva. You're my friend." Her voice was a whisper.

"Very good. Here is your letter, little one. I am going out into the hall with Guardian Tsava so you can have privacy while you read it." He set the letter on the ground within reach of the cell, then turned to Matilda, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

"Wait." Her hand shot out and clutched his ankle. "Thank you." She looked up at Matilda with a fearful expression. "Please don't punish him, he was only trying to help me. He understands about my illness. He helps keep me sane."

"Don't worry, Ms. Karp. He's not in trouble. Enjoy your letter. Maybe we can find a way for your Mikhail to visit you sometime soon."

"Thank you. Both of you." Sonya scooped up the letter, retreating to the tattered mattress.

Savva walked over to the door, waiting for his co-worker to join him. "I will see you tomorrow, little bird, I promise."

"Sweet dreams Savva."

* * *

Johnson was gone when they entered the hallway. Savva sighed, leaning back and slamming his head against the wall. "Damn him to hell a hundred times over."

"I've always suspected he was an asshole, this just proves it beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"What will they do to me, do you think?" He asked, studying the ceiling.

Matilda leaned back beside him. "I think that depends on how we spin what happened in there."

"What do you mean, spin it?"

"Savva, you got through to her—even the drugs don't calm her that quickly. I think we can tell them that you have experience with this… whatever it is, and that you can keep her calm."

"It's a long shot, yes?"

"Yes, it is—but I'm your superior and I witnessed it firsthand. I'm going to see the warden." She pushed off the wall and started up the stairs. "And Savva? As your superior, I appreciate the fact you followed my orders to the letter in talking to Sonya Karp and trying to keep her calm."

He stared at her, not comprehending. "You never gave me any orders. You never—"

"Ah, but I did. You just don't seem to remember. All you were doing in that room was following my orders Luzhkov."

"Matilda, I cannot allow you to put yourself at risk—"

"There is no risk. The warden has no power over me. I report directly to Queen Tatiana. She sent me here to monitor how the warden treated the guardians—and that little piece of information needs to remain between the two of us."

When he nodded she pulled out her radio, demanding another guardian come down to cover Johnson's shift. As soon as the man arrived, she took off, heading for the wardens office. Savva wandered in the direction of his room at a much more sedate pace, thinking about what he would say to Mikhail Tanner when they had their daily conversation, later in the evening.


	7. Chapter 7

He'd been awakened earlier than usual by the loud, insistent ringing of his phone. It had been a text message from Matilda, stating that everything was being dealt with behind the scenes. She had a sister at court who would help them, should the need arise.

Apparently, they would be needing that assistance.

Savva stared at the bright yellow note stuck to his locker. Struggling to contain the growing sense of panic he felt, he read over the words for the third time.

'Guardian Luzhkov—report to head office at 21:00.'

Never before had the head office contacted him, and although he had suspected some fallout for disobeying orders, he'd assumed he would be dealing with the Guardian Council, not with the prisons warden. His expression betrayed none of the emotions that raced within him as he made his way to the above ground levels of the building. Arriving in the administrative offives a few minutes later, he gave the young Moroi secretary his name, he was advised that Warden Chuzhoi was expecting him. He approached the large door with trepidation, rapping his knuckles softly against the wood.

"Enter."

His eyes flicked around the room, committing every detail to memory. It was second nature—something instilled in all guardians during their many years of training. The walls were adorned with pictures of the warden with various Royals, circling around a large portrait of the Queen. The windows were tinted with the usual protective coating, ensuring the Moroi could work during daylight hours without suffering from the draining effects of the sun. In one of the two oversized leather chairs that faced the large cherry wood desk Matilda sat waiting. She stared across the room at Savva with an expression of complete boredom, as if this were merely a troublesome glitch in her daily routine.

Finally his eyes came to rest on the middle aged Moroi man seated behind the desk. He wore his pale, almost white blonde hair slicked back from his forehead, and his bright blue eye were cold and appraising. The fake, beaming smile on his face faltered for a moment under the intense scrutiny of Savva's gaze. "Guardian Luzhkov, I presume?"

Bowing his head to the man as custom dictated, Savva ground his teeth together in frustration. The Moroi thought they were so superior, demanding respect even though they had done nothing to earn it. "You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes, yes. Come in and have a seat." Chuzhoi waited for him to sit down, the plastic looking smile still firmly in place on his homely face. "Yesterday, Guardian Johnson brought me rather disturbing news about some inappropriate conduct with a prisoner. Matilda here showed up a short while later to set the record straight. Apparently the orders she'd given you were passed down through the Guardian Council as opposed to the proper channels, and not everyone had been informed of your special project."

The wardens voice expressed his displeasure at being kept out of the loop. Internally, Savva smiled, imagining what the man's reaction would be if he knew the truth—that the orders were absolutely non-existent. As if reading his mind Matilda shot him a look, reminding him, perhaps, to keep his mouth shut.

"I'm sorry if you were not informed, sir." Savva's words were the right ones, but his tone gave away his disdain.

Chuzhoi's smile dimmed a bit. "She also advised me that you've made a breakthrough of some sort with prisoner Karp."

"Yes sir, that is correct."

"How—exactly—did you achieve such a thing?"

"I simply spent a few hours each day talking with her. I brought in pictures of the man she loves, and small things that he said were her favorites. I read her poems."

"And he brought her back from one of her psychotic episodes in under five minutes," Matilda interjected, speaking up for the first time since the meeting began.

"Really." Chuzhoi straightened some papers on his desk. "Tell me what happened."

"I offered her a letter from her lover. I told her he would want her to fight against the madness, and that I could not give her the letter until she calmed herself. It worked."

"Interesting. Are you aware, Luzhkov that right now there are thirteen different prisoners that have the same affliction as Sonya Karp? Of course, they're all being held at Tarasov. Sonya Karp is only the latest victim to succumb to this… whatever it is, and as such, she hasn't degenerated to the point of no return. Once she does, she'll be joining the others."

Savva's jaw tensed, but he forced himself to remain silent. The thought of thirteen mentally ill people who needed help locked away forever in the hellhole that was Tarasov sickened him. It was a place of nightmares, where only the worst criminals were kept—those that stood no chance of ever seeing the world outside of prison walls. It was the type of place where no hope lingered—the very air was permeated with the despair of the men and women that resided there.

"If what you've done with Sonya could be replicated—if it could work on others," Matilda said, "it could mean they had a second chance. They could be moved to a less… Well, to a place more suitable to their needs."

"Let's not jump the gun, Matilda." Chuzhoi said, leaning back in his chair. "Yesterday could have been a fluke."

"Which is exactly the reason that Savva needs to be granted free access to the woman," she shot back. "We need to document what he does."

"Free access is impossible. There are rules against it—rules that must be upheld."

"Is that what you're going to tell the Council when they ask for a status report?" Matilda's voice was cold.

"I don't answer to the Guardian Council." Chuzhoi's lip curled up, as if the very thought disgusted him.

She narrowed her eyes at his words. Leaning forward, her voice came out a low, dangerous sounding purr. "I made some inquiries today Warden Chuzhoi. The Guardian Council didn't dream up this plan on their own. The orders came from a _much _higher authority."

Savva twisted his hands in his lap, suddenly nervous. The conversation had taken a decidedly dangerous turn. The woman was implying that the orders—the _imaginary_ orders—had come from either the Royal Council or the Queen. If the truth came out, they both might find themselves sharing a cell in Tarasov. Studying her profile, he wondered if she realized the danger of her words. Perhaps she thought that as an employee of the Queen she would have amnesty in this situation. It didn't really matter—even if _she_ was protected against the fallout, _he_ had no such safety net.

Chuzhoi glared across the desk at her. "Are you telling me that the Moroi Royal Council made this decision and didn't bother to inform anyone? That's a bit hard to believe."

"I don't recall saying the Moroi Council was involved." She glanced over at Savva. "Did I say that, Guardian Luzhkov?"

He cleared his throat. "No madam, you did not."

"The Moroi Council is the highest form of authority there is!" Chuzhoi argued.

Savva could not contain the quick bark of laughter that escaped him. The man was a complete fool, without a brain in his head. The Council might make the rules, but even they had someone to answer to.

"Please enlighten us as to exactly what you find so amusing, Luzhkov." The wardens pale face was faintly flushed with anger.

Savva glanced at Matilda, unsure how to answer. When she gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, granting her permission, he sighed deeply. This would damn him even further when and if the lie were exposed. As if she could since his fear, she cocked one dark eyebrow and winked at him, confusing him even further. "There is a higher authority than the Royal Council, sir. Queen Tatiana Ivashkov."

"Preposterous!" Chuzhoi slammed his fist against the desk. "How dare you insinuate the Queen would circumvent the Council in favor of dealing with mere _dhampirs_!"

Savva's anger flared to life at the disgust evident in the other man's voice. Judging by the look on Matilda's face, she was feeling the same stir of anger. At their age, they should probably be used to it, but somehow, no matter how often exposed to the contempt, every single time something like this happened, it stung like acid, making a fresh wound.

The man continued his rant, seemingly oblivious to the fact that two, extremely lethal beings sat across his desk, fighting back the urge to rip him to shreds. "I should have you brought up on charges for even _insinuating _ such a thing! It's disgraceful!"

Matilda lost control first, leaping from her chair and slamming her palms down on the desk with so much force that the pencil cup bounced and rolled to the floor. "We _mere dhampirs_ keep your precious _Moroi _asses alive, so you will speak of us with the respect we fucking deserve!"

"How dare you—"

"How dare _you_ threaten us! Savva Luzhkov made a breakthrough that no one has been able to make in the last five years. Whatever this illness is, the number of Moroi affected by it increases every year! It attacks out of nowhere and unlike Sandovsky's Syndrome, there's no way to predict who might have it. Until now, all we could do was lock them away, but this…. This is going to revolutionize the way we handle cases like Sonya Karp, and all you can think about is your wounded fucking pride!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The warden stood up, leaning across the desk as he screamed directly in her face. "Know your place, woman!"

"My place? And where would that be ? On my back underneath some rutting Moroi swine?" She spat out the words with disgust, her hands curling into fists. "I may be a dhampir, but I am one half Moroi. My father's blood runs through my veins, and that blood is Royal—unlike your own!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, something clicked into place in Savva's mind. He watched her as she stood, beautiful in her fury, taking in each aspect of her countenance. Her profile, her hair, her eyes—oh Chuzhoi was a fool a million times over for angering _this_ woman.

"I may not be Royal, but at least I'm not a dhampir _blood whore_!"

Savva had him by his throat and up against the window before the other man even realized what was happening. "Apologize."

"I will not! She—"

"You will apologize to the Queen's half-sister or I will rip your head from your shoulders," he growled, tightening his grip. "She deserves your respect, and not just because of her Ivashkov blood!"

Chuzhoi stared at the woman, his expression horrified. "Is this true?"

"The queen and I share a father. My mother was his blood whore," she walked around the desk, gently placing her hand on Savva's bulging bicep. "Thank you Savva, but it's not necessary. Let him go."

"No madam. Not until he apologizes for the grave injustice he has performed against you."

"I'm sorry. I regret every word I said. It… escalated far too quickly for me to control my emotions."

Savva dropped the man, glaring down at him. "I was once offered a position as lead guardian to the Queen. I turned down the honor, but still I would protect the Queen—and her family—with my life. It is what _dhampirs _do, after all."

Chuzhoi rubbed at his neck, not meeting either of their eyes. "I suggest we adjourn for the day and reconvene once everyone has had a chance to calm down."

"I agree." Matilda shot Savva a wry grin. "Guardian Luzhkov, by order of Queen Tatiana Ivashkov, you may have access to whatever you might find necessary to work with Sonya Karp."

Savva bowed, forcing himself to keep his expression blank. "Thank you, madam. I would very much like to provide her with some clean clothing, and a chance to properly cleanse herself."

Glancing over at Chuzhoi, Matilda raised her eyebrows in a questioning way. "Well?"

"Take her to the showers on her floor, but she must be accompanied by double the usual amount of guardians, since they'll have to be female."

"I'll ignore that slam against the fairer sex, Warden, because your opinion of female guardians doesn't mean shit to me." Matilda grabbed Savva's arm, towing him out the door before he could charge the warden again. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I did. He besmirched a lady's honor. It could not go unpunished."

"You're very… old world, aren't you?" She studied him as they walked, her eyes burning a hole in him. "Is it the way you were raised or…"

"It is the proper way for a gentleman to behave." He shrugged, not comfortable with the conversation. "My grandmother and aunt raised me, my mother… was busy most of the time. She was there, but they influenced me far more than she did."

"It's really rather refreshing, I like it." Her tone was light and flirty, making him cringe internally. He did not want this—for her to show an undue interest in him. He would never return the feeling. He had no interest in her except as a fellow guardian and living being. The fact she was an attractive female did absolutely nothing for him. How could it? Sofiya still had a firm hold on his heart, and would for all eternity.

"Matilda… You should know now, before anything is said that might make things awkward—I am still in love with Sofiya." It came out a mumble. He was embarrassed and hated that this might create complication in their working relationship.

"Oh I know." She smiled at him, and to his horror he felt his cheeks flooding with color. "I just like to flirt. You'll get used to it. I want you to go change and meet me at the garage in twenty minutes."

He grabbed on to the subject change, relieved. "Why?"

"We need to go get Sonya some clothes. She doesn't seem to be the type who would appreciate being stuck in a prison issue jumpsuit."

"Everything is closed by now Matilda—to humans it is almost ten o'clock."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, making a sound of disgust. "Men. I take it you've never heard of Wal-Mart?"

* * *

They'd been wandering through the ladies department for thirty minutes. Savva was on the phone, Matilda having ordered him to obtain Sonya's proper sizes from Mikhail. They had already picked out dresses and skirts, pants and sweaters. He'd obtained her shoe size as well. That left only… unmentionables, and he was horrified at the thought of discussing them, never mind asking for sizes. Finally, tired of listening to him beat around the bush, Matilda took matters into her own hands.

"For God's sake, give me the damned phone." Ripping it out of his hand, she shot him a dark look. "Tanner, what Luzhkov has been trying to choke out for the last five minutes is what size bra and panties." She listened for a few minutes, frowning. "I don't know. I understand that you want to see her, but we have to see if she maintains stability for a week or so. As soon as it's clear, we'll let you know." Ending the call, she handed him back the phone with a smirk. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Savva glared at her. "I am going to get her some flowers while you pick out… those things."

Rolling her eyes at his discomfort, she agreed, arranging to meet him in the shoe department in fifteen minutes time. They finished the shopping as quickly as possible and were almost back to the compound when he worked up enough courage to ask the question that had been burning on his mind ever since he found out about the Queen's interest in their venture.

"May I ask something?" He glanced over at her, trying to mask the irritation he felt. She'd been fiddling with the radio, flipping channels every few minutes. Her taste in music was abysmal at best. When she nodded, he continued. "Why does the queen care so much about the progress I've made with Sonya?"

"Because she wants to find a cure."

"There's more to it than that. Thirteen people have been locked away, and she didn't seem worried enough to investigate before now."

Matilda sighed, playing with the chain of the small silver cross she wore. "What I say can go no further. Do I have your word?"

"Of course."

"She's been monitoring those thirteen prisoners for some time, watching as each suggested therapy failed. Nothing seemed to make a difference. Our nephew… great-nephew, actually, has been showing signs of instability for some time, and it's growing worse as each year passes. He's her favorite—more like a son, truth be told, and she's terrified at the thought of having to someday lock him away. When I called her last night and told her what I'd witnessed… It gave her hope."

"This nephew, is he your favorite as well?"

"I've never met him." Her voice was filled with sadness. "I've never met any of the Ivashkov family except my sister. I'm her dirty little secret. I think she keeps me close at hand so she can make sure no one knows that her precious father had a dhampir lover."

"I'm sure that's not the case. She seems to place great trust in you."

"Yeah, well, you know what they say Luzhkov. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. No one knows what goes on in her head, least of all me."

As they pulled up to the gate, Savva made a mental note to watch his step carefully over the next few days. Her words disturbed him. Something about this sudden change seemed almost too good to be true. He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Tatiana Ivashkov might see this situation as the perfect way to set her bastard half-blood sister up for a fall. If that was—in fact—what she was doing, the last thing he wanted was to get caught in the crossfire.


	8. Chapter 8

When he entered entered the small room that housed her cell with five guardians accompanying him, Sonya jumped to her feet, scurrying to the farthest corner and watching them with wary eyes. Savva could feel her confusion like a physical caress as she watched the parade of guardians stacking bags and a few potted plants against the wall. When she turned to him with eyebrows raised, he smiled in what he hoped was a calming manner.

"What's going on?"

"These are things for you, maliy ptitsa, to make your stay more comfortable—more pleasant. Do you remember my friend Guardian Tsava? She and a few other ladies are going to take you for a shower. Before you go, would you like to come out and look through all the lovely things we have brought you?" Unlocking the door, Savva pulled it open then wandered over to the rifle through the bags.

"Savva—I don't understand…" She stayed in place, arms encircling her thin frame as her eyes darted around, resting on the female guardians. His heart ached at the expression of pure terror on her lovely face. "I thought you were in trouble."

"Do you remember what happened yesterday, Sonya?"

She sighed. "I lost control again."

"Yes dear one, but you also regained yourself amazingly fast. If the little things I brought to you had something to do with your control, then surely some clean clothes and a nice warm shower could only help even more, correct?"

She hesitantly approached the open door of her cell, as if she thought this were some kind of joke. When he said nothing further she stepped out, wandering over to the wall, seemingly drawn by the plants they had purchased. One of the mums had a single spent blossom and she lingered over it, running her fingers across the brittle, withered petals. When she removed her hand the bloom was full and alive again, it's vibrant burgundy color brighter than the others on the plant. Sonya glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly.

"Could Sofiya do that?"

"Yes, she could—and other miraculous things as well. But before we talk… please, the ladies are waiting to take you down the hall. I would like to snap some pictures of you to send to Misha. Do you want him to see you in this condition?"

Kneeling, she dug through the bags, pulling out the items she'd need—bathing products and a change of clothes. Savva released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as Matilda escorted her out of the room, closing the door behind them. Gathering up a handful of bags he entered the cell, quickly stripping the mattress of its grubby, threadbare sheets and remaking it with new ones. As he worked, his mind wandered to the past, and he wondered if he had the courage to tell someone—Sonya—about the horrors of what happened at Saint Basil's all those years ago.

Could he tell her about the atrocities committed without her judging him for his own small part in the tragedy? The thought of placing his trust in another being—of sharing such great secret— frightened him, and he still did not know if he dared bare everything that lay so heavily on his soul. Only one person besides himself knew the extent of what had happened in the wake of Sofiya's attack—and he would take the secret to the grave. Savva had promised to do the same, but the promise weighed on him with every breath he took.

The radio on his hip flared to life, demanding his presence in the guardian staff room. With a heavy sigh he acknowledged the order, mentally hoping that whatever they required could be handled quickly and with minimal effort. He needed to be here when they returned with Sonya—for now, she was his top priority, just as his Sofiya had been, up until the moment of her death.

* * *

For eight days, Savva sat beside Sofiya's bed, holding her hand and praying, only leaving to visit the restroom situated at the end of the corridor. He begged her to return to him, singing her songs and telling her stories, his heart shattering a bit more for every hour that she lay unresponsive to his pleas.

On the ninth day, when she finally awoke, he gathered her in his arms offering up praises to God as his tears wetting her gown as he cradled her thin form against his muscular body. She responded in kind, clinging to him as if he were a life boat and she was drowning in an angry, churning sea. With sweet words he promised her that everything would be all right, and that in time, the memories would fade away until they seemed to be nothing more than a bad dream that once woke her in the night.

As could only be expected, she was changed by the event. No longer the sweet, forgiving girl she had been before the brutal attack, she wept in his arms, cursing the Moroi and demanding vengeance against those who had stolen their unborn child. With a ferocious look on his normally calm face, he promised her they would suffer so greatly that they would pray for death before he was finished with them.

He stood beside her, holding her hand, his face an emotionless mask as she relayed what had transpired to Vladimir Boreyev, the Academy's headmaster. The man's secretary stood nearby, her face expressionless as she recorded the horrific events on her small stenographers pad. As Sofiya spoke, her soft voice faltering over certain things that embarrassed her, Savva studied the Moroi headmaster, wondering if they could trust the man to grant them justice for the barbarity she had suffered. Every time there was a tiny hitch in her voice, or a brief pause as she choked on a sob, Savva's rage grew, until its flames filled him completely, licking the insides of his being as he struggled to maintain his control.

Six Moroi had burst into their cabin, dragging Sofiya out into the cold November night wearing only her dressing gown. They gagged her, hauling her through the woods, not caring that the fragile skin of her back was ripped and torn by the briars and rocks that littered the path to the abandoned barn. Knowing it was off limits to students and never patrolled, they kept her there for four days, taking turns as they alternated between beating her and using her body to sate their own lustful desires. Each one fed from her time and time again, calling her their own personal, royal blood whore as they raped her. She reeled off their names—all but one, whom she had never seen before. The unknown boy had been the most violent of the group, kicking her repeatedly in the abdomen, determined to destroy what he called 'the abomination growing inside her'.

Headmaster Boreyev's eyes widened as she recited off the names, and Savva could understand the panic that filled the man's face. They were powerful families, each one royal, which put the man in an awkward position—because the victim, his Sofiya was royal as well. The question was, would Boreyev do the right thing and risk angering five of the royal houses, or would he anger the Badica's—a family with many connections, and not all of them among the royal clans.

Boreyev stood, offering his condolences, before fixing his beady eyes on Savva's face. As if he could sense the thoughts racing through the dhampirs tormented mind, he gave strict orders that no one was too confront the boys in question. He claimed the school council would meet to determine their punishment. Savva shook the man's hand, leaning forward and locking the Moroi's bright blue eyes with his own bottomless brown gaze.

"If you do not punish them, the Badica's will, and I will be the weapon they chose to wield. I pray you share that with the council, and I trust they will reach a just verdict."

The Moroi's already pale complexion drained of color as he stepped back. "The council is always fair, Guardian Luzhkov."

"That is a matter of opinion headmaster." Savva's hands fisted at his sides as he struggled to contain his contempt. "The unknown assailant had to register with the gate before they would allow him on the grounds. I will need to examine the logbooks to determine his identity."

"The council will handle it—we'll find out who he was." The Moroi left him in the doorway, his secretary teetering after him in her high heels as she tried to keep up with the man's rapid pace as he fled from the infirmary.

Turning to look at Sofiya, he noticed she had fallen back into a restless sleep. He left the room quietly, heading for the payphone located in the lounge at the end of the corridor. Dialing a number from memory—one he never thought he would have need of—he spoke in hushed tones, making polite small talk before finally stating the purpose of his call.

"Six royal Moroi raped my Sofiya and—"

The gruff voice at the other end cut him off almost immediately. "Give me the bastard's names and they're good as dead, kardeşim."

"No—no my friend. I will handle it, but one of the men, she did not recognize. The administration will not let me view the guest records. I need a name for him. Please."

"It may take me a few days, but I swear you'll have it. I assume you don't want me to call you there… Give me a week then call me back."

Savva closed his eyes in relief, resting his forehead against the tiled wall. "Thank you—you are a true friend."

"You'd do the same for me if the roles were reversed."

"I would, but somehow I think if any man were foolish enough to try and attack Janine, she would kill them herself."

A sharp bark of laughter echoed across the line. "That she would, even at seven months pregnant." The amusement died away almost instantly, the voice growing serious. "Savva, if you need me to send any men—"

"Thank you. I will keep it in mind. I'll speak to you soon."

Ending the call, he returned to the small room where Sofiya slept, picking up her hand and smoothing the hair away from her sweaty brow as he settled himself in for the night.

As each day passed the fact that he was forbidden from destroying the monsters that had injured his woman ate away at his soul. The fact the Moroi men still roamed the campus freely reached his ears—along with the fact they had yet to be questioned about their actions. For Sofiya's sake, he packed his rage down tight and deep, sealing it off until the time came release it. He focused solely on the woman he loved more than life, trying to help her in every way possible. She had fallen into a fit of melancholy and seemed almost catatonic at times, ignoring his demands that she fight her way back to him.

Two weeks passed and calls to Ibrahim remained futile—they were no closer to finding out the identity of the sixth assailant. Still his friend swore he would unearth it, even if it meant making a trip to Saint Basil's in person. Collapsing in the chair by Sofiya's bed, Savva scrubbed at his face with his palms, frustrated beyond belief. Ibrahim was known for obtaining the unobtainable. If he couldn't come up with a name, the man would go unpunished—and the mere thought of that made every muscle in his body tense with anger.

A nurse stepped into the room, smiling sweetly at him as she took Sofiya's vitals. He made an effort to be pleasant with the woman, conscious of the fact that the Moroi nurses treated his beloved with the utmost regard, ignoring the frequent rants and attacks that came in her brief moments of consciousness. He had learned long ago the value of befriending the laypeople around the Academy. As the woman moved quietly about the room tending to Sofiya's needs, a novice entered, handing him a thick, vellum envelope. He studied the elegant swirl of handwriting across the front, knowing instantly what it was. The verdict had finally been rendered.

"Is that the decree?"

Savva glanced up, his eyes locking with the concerned green gaze of the nurse. "It is. Silly, but I am almost afraid to open it."

"Would you like me to do it?"

"If you wouldn't mind." He handed her the envelope, ashamed to see that his hand was shaking.

Sliding her finger under the flap she removed the decree, her eyes traveling across the page. Her lovely face twisted, her smile fading away entirely as she handed him the paper.

"I'm so sorry Guardian Luzhkov—there must be some mistake."

He read over the missive, laughing out loud—but it wasn't a gleeful sound. It was as he'd expected. The bastards had not received the harsh sentence they'd deserved for brutalizing a woman and killing her unborn child. They hadn't even received a slap on the wrists. The council, in their esteemed wisdom had declared there was insufficient proof; they could not ruin the reputations of five upstanding Moroi lords based on the claims of a single girl—especially not one with a documented history of mental breakdowns.

"I must telephone her father. Would you stay with her for a moment, madam?"

Receiving an affirmative nod, he again retreated to the lounge, dreading the reaction he knew he would receive. With shaking fingers he dialed the phone, relaying the unwelcome news in a voice that did not falter. Prince Badica's curses were so loud that Savva held the phone away from his ear, waiting for the man to regain his composure. When at last there was blessed silence, he spoke, his voice filled with an anger that matched the the older mans.

"I promise you sir, they will pay greatly for this injustice."

"Leave the council to me, son. If you're involved, they'll imprison you—or worse. Sofiya will need your strength to get past this."

Savva stared at the wall, unable to process what the man was saying. "But sir—"

"She'll be avenged Savva. You have my word as her father."

The sharp clatter of metal pulled his attention down the hall as an ear-piercing shriek of feminine rage bounced off the tiles. Without a thought for propriety, he dropped the phone, dashing back towards the room where he'd left Sofiya sleeping.

In his hurry to call her father, he'd left the council's decree lying on the bedside table and the nurse had handed it to Sofiya as soon as she'd stirred. Upon reading the words inscribed on the paper she snapped—her melancholy broken by a ferocious rage the likes of which he'd never seen. Sofiya was many things—docile, sweet and good natured—but never this. Never could he have imagined her as this hissing, spitting wildcat, trying to claw her way out of the room—a room which she had destroyed in mere minutes. As she screamed out curses and threats against her attackers and the council, a doctor slipped in and Savva held her as the man sedated her. His heart was a massive chunk of lead in his chest as she glared at him with angry, betrayed eyes.

The drug worked surprisingly fast, and she slumped in his arms, unconscious less than a minute after receiving the injection. He watched the rise and fall of her chest as her breathing evened out, and sent up a silent prayer that the angels would send her pleasant dreams. When he left her room this time, it was not as a guardian sworn to put Moroi life above his own—it was as a man who had been pushed beyond the point of breaking by a corrupt system. Returning to the payphone, he placed one last call, thus sealing the fate of each and every man who had violated his woman.

Savva Luzhkov was out for vengeance.


	9. Chapter 9

For the first time in his life, Savva's actions were unpredictable—he was being controlled by his emotions rather than cold, hard logic. The mere fact he had decided to take Ibrahim Mazur up on his offer spoke legions about his current mindset. Mazur was known throughout Russia as an extremely dangerous man—one that others would tiptoe around so as not to incur his wrath. His reputation for being a brutal and merciless enemy was well deserved, and with just a few simple words, Savva had unleashed the coiled serpent from its cage. Now Zmey would stop at nothing, not resting until the job was complete.

It was the middle of the Moroi day when he stepped out of the brightly lit clinic; his eyes automatically adjusted, pupils enlarging in the inky darkness that waited outside the smoked glass doors. Replaying the phone call in his mind, he headed across campus towards the great hall. The part of him that respected authority screamed out in disgust at what he had set in motion, but his protective nature—not to mention his love for Sofiya—squashed his revulsion down. He had attempted to follow the rules, counting on the council to do the honorable thing. Instead they had done the unthinkable, letting the boys off without even a warning. The Badica family could petition the Queen for intervention, but would she bother when of the boys involved was an Ivashkov—a member of her own family? No, in the end, it would rest on his shoulders to deliver the punishment for such treachery. Prince Badica could handle the council in whatever way he saw fit, but the perpetrators of the vile act—the Moroi bastards who had violated his Sofiya would answer to Savva Luzhkov, and he would accept no less than blood price.

The dining room was full when he entered, his eyes automatically searching for the boys in question and finding them in an instant. All conversation in the room ceased as he neared the table, his footsteps echoing through the great room, warning them of his approach.

One by one he met their eyes, his rage growing at the smug smiles on their pale, arrogant faces. They sat dressed in their casual clothes, always looking down their noses at dhampirs—the very people who protecting their sheltered, pampered skin from the dangers than lurked outside the wards, the people that lay down their lives down as forfeit for the Moroi. Surrounded by the non-royal flunkies that hung on their every word, the royals were self-assured that with their wealth and power no one would dare cross them. That is, until they saw the look in Savva's dark eyes, and felt the tense anger that practically radiated from his pores, surrounding him like a cloud. Their smiles slowly faded away as he delivered his promise in a low, clear voice that carried no further than their table.

"While at this Academy, you are protected, but with my life I vow that as soon as you set foot off these grounds, you are mine. I will hunt you down like the dogs you are, and there is nowhere on earth that you can hide from me. I will have vengeance for my Sofiya."

He stared at them a minute more while his threat sank in, then turned and left the room as quietly as he had entered. Whispers followed in his wake as he passed each table, but he ignored them. Let them all speculate as to what he'd said, it did not matter—in the end, they had no proof. And he would make sure it stayed that way.

* * *

The next week Sofiya remained under constant sedation—no one could control her. It pained him to see her frail wrists strapped down to the bed, but he understood that the medical staff had no choice in the matter. When she awoke she was like a madwoman, attacking anyone and everyone that dared approach her. In her brief periods of lucidity she altered between spontaneous laughter and meaningless ramblings that made no sense at all. She would thrash against the straps that bound her, screaming curses at Savva for betraying her. She hurled accusations at him, claiming he had never loved her, and that he was in league with the demons who had tortured her. A lesser man would have buckled from grief at her condition, but he refused to give up, never leaving her bedside, singing to her or reading aloud—even spending hours brushing her silken hair. He ignored her cruel words, knowing in his heart that she could not help the things she said. He told anyone who would listen that she would come back to him, in time. He believed it—he had to believe it. The alternative was too horrible to consider. He spent every waking moment she had trying to reach through the haze of drugs and madness that clouded her mind.

The nurses in the infirmary grew accustomed to his presence. In fact, unless he called for them, they left Sofiya's room relatively unattended once her sedatives had been administered. Besides changing out her I.V. drips and emptying her catheter there was little they could do to help the poor girl. From time to time they would glance in from the doorway, always seeing Savva seated beside the bed, his hand outstretched, their fingers entwined. He slept in the chair, his dark head resting on the bed near her captive hand. The nurses were kind, going out of their way to bring him food and drink, always offering him words of encouragement. To the staff of the clinic he was a tragic, noble figure, always on guard and ever vigilant for the slightest change in Sofiya's condition. Which is why they were all stunned beyond belief when they realized that Savva Luzhkov was the prime suspect in the disappearance of Anton Dashkov. It was impossible for them to comprehend as the man had not left his fiancee's bedside in almost a fortnight.

When the Moroi lord's absence was first noted, no one thought much about it. As was the case with most royal Moroi, he had the habit of spending long weekends away from the Academy. His immense wealth fueled parties that sometimes lasted for days at the nearest blood whore establishments, and he was adept at slipping in and out of the grounds without attracting the slightest bit of notice.

His friends, however, had not been invited to accompany him on his last sojourn, and that small fact struck them as extremely odd. They took their concerns to the headmaster, who in turn launched a full investigation. Guardians were dispatched to the nearby settlements, but their search for answers proved futile—each came back empty handed. With no leads in sight perhaps it was only natural for the headmaster to question Savva Luzhkov. After all, Dashkov was one of the men who had attacked Sofiya.

He was at her bedside when the guardians came for him, a book of poems in his hands as he read aloud in a soft, low pitched voice. As soon as they stated their demands he folded down the corner of the page then set the book aside, gently kissing Sofiya's brow. He knew—of course—why they were there, of course, but he wore a mask of complete confusion—it was imperative that everyone believe him to be innocent. He was prepared to follow them without question, as he had been trained to do since childhood.

He summoned a nurse to sit with Sofiya; when the woman appeared in the doorway and took in the sight of two guardians standing tensely behind him, she demanded answers to the questions Savva had not voiced.

"What's this about Guardian Luzhkov?"

"I am not sure, Madam. All I know is that these gentlemen say I must accompany them."

She glared at the guardians, her hands on her almost nonexistent hips, her green eyes flashing dangerously. "Where are you taking him?"

The senior guardian spoke up, his face flushing with embarrassment. It was obvious this was not a task he relished in the slightest. "To see the headmaster—he is to be questioned with regards to a missing royal."

"Ridiculous! He hasn't left that chair except to use the facilities! He doesn't even leave to eat—we have to bring trays of food in to him." She stepped closer, her face furious. "He's not going anywhere with you."

Savva put a restraining hand on her arm. "Please madam, they will see it is a mistake. These men are just doing as they were ordered. Do not interfere with their jobs—it would make things difficult for them."

Bowing his head respectfully, he allowed the guardians to lead him from the room. He bit the inside of his cheek to contain his mirth when the nurse's raised voice drifted down the hall, loudly cursing the stupidity of the headmaster. As they reached the door he glanced back, to see a small gathering of women clustering around the door to Sofiya's room, all chattering away in angry voices as they watched the guardians steering him out of the building.

Boreyev didn't waste any time by beating around the bush, accusing him outright of killing Dashkov in order to avenge Sofiya's honor. Savva denied every word, staring the headmaster directly in the eye as he answered every question and accusation in a carefully modulated voice. He accounted for each minute of the days in question; offering the names of those who'd witnessed his whereabouts for the time he was at Sofiya's bedside. In the end, Boreyev had no grounds on which to hold him, releasing him after administering several thinly veiled threats. He returned to his vigil at Sofiya's side with a small, pleased smile on his face.

Within a few days' time the rumor mill took over—common consensus around campus had Dashkov on the run from his family with his pregnant blood whore mistress in tow. The fact that Dashkov was being held captive in the root cellar of a small, abandoned farmhouse a few miles outside the academy grounds was only known by two people—and neither of them would be disclosing the truth anytime soon.

He kept his calm demeanor each time the guardians came to collect him, always following them directly to Headmaster Boreyev for further questioning. Twice it happened in the next week, first to discuss the recently missing Vitaly Ozera, then again when Oleg Ivashkov disappeared. Savva smiled at Boreyev, suggesting that perhaps there was dissention between the men who had perpetrated the attack on his fiancee. It was not unheard of for criminals to turn on their own, after all.

Boreyev's eyes were like lasers as he stared impassively at the dhampir. "I know you're involved in this, Luzhkov."

"Impossible sir." Savva's voice was soft, but firm. "You have no proof, because there is none to be had. I am innocent of any wrong doing."

"Bullshit! This has your name written all over it! You have to know you won't get away with—"

A loud commotion from the outer waiting area stopped the man in mid rant. A moment later the door burst open and several women swarmed into the headmaster's immense office startling its inhabitants. Boreyev's secretary pushed her way to the front, her pale cheeks flushed with anger.

"I'm sorry sir—they refused to wait. I couldn't stop them—"

"It's fine Anastasia." He glared at the newcomers, his expression fierce. "What is the meaning of this?"

"We're here to testify on behalf of Guardian Luzhkov. He has not left the infirmary since Lady Badica was brought in, and you damn well know it. We've left you countless messages, all of which you've ignored." Savva glanced over at the woman, amazed to see that it was the greened eyed nurse who was speaking out on his behalf. Accompanying her were several other members of the clinic staff, including the senior physician. The nurse stalked towards the headmaster, slamming a stack of papers down on his desk. "These are statements from every member of the medical staff, attesting to what I've just said. We have copies ready to send to the court, if need be, along with a witnessed complaint stating that you have refused to hear our testimony."

"This isn't a courtroom—it's an informal questioning," Boreyev said.

"It's a goddamn witch hunt and you know it," the woman hissed. "You've already tried to sweep what happened to Sofiya Badica under the rug and now you're trying to pin these disappearances on her dhampir lover."

"I won't stand for foul language in my presence Miss Zhabin."

"It's Mrs. Zhabin. Before I was married I was an Ivashkov— Oleg is my second cousin."

"All the more reason that you should want me to get to the bottom of this, I would think." The headmaster's sly smile faded as her hand slammed down on his desk.

"You would think wrong. Oleg deserved whatever has happened to him. Sofiya Badica isn't the first woman he's brutalized—have you forgotten the dhampire girl he attacked last year? Or Daria Lidnin, the non-royal Moroi he raped on winter break? You've been covering up his crimes for far too long, Boreyev" She leaned forward, her face inches from the older man's. "Leave Savva alone. This is the only warning you're going to receive. The next time I mention these things, it will be to the Royal Council and her majesty, the Queen."

Nurse Zhabin cast Savva a look that spoke volumes, then turned, leaving the room with her co-workers trailing after her, all of them pausing to touch Savva on the shoulder in a show of solidarity. Terse silence filled the room for a moment, before the headmaster cleared his throat.

"Obviously they are trying to cover for you. You've had to leave the infirmary to attend your patrols and could have easily have slipped away then. I'm surprised the fools didn't realize it."

"Actually, sir," a sandy haired guardian stepped away from the wall, nodding towards Savva, "he hasn't been patrolling. We've covered his shifts so he can look after Lady Badica. He is the only one who can calm her."

Boreyev's jaw tightened in anger, his eyes filled with rage. Savva stared across the desk, his face a mask of total composure. A moment later when the headmaster dismissed him with a yet another warning, Savva paused before the guardian who'd intervened, clasping hands with the man in a gesture of thanks. He left the administrative building with a tight lipped smile on his face, pleased to see that he finally seemed to be reaping the rewards of his habitual kindness to others.

However bleak and troublesome his world might appear at the moment, the actions of the people who had stood beside him spoke legions, uplifting his spirits beyond belief. He reveled in the fact that there were good people in the world, willing to step forward and stand up for what they thought was right.

His thoughts shifted to the three missing Moroi, and his smile became noticeably grim. So far he had been lucky, but there were still two—well , three if you counted the unknown assailant, to be dealt with. For now, they would remain untouched, their fear eating away at them from the inside out as they wondered what had happened to their missing friends. Yes, Voda, Szelsky and their mysterious friend would have a brief reprieve, but the others—the three missing Moroi—would meet justice in a few hours. But first… he had to go hunting—and the game Savva had in mind was more deadly than anyone could imagine.


	10. Chapter 10

Savva sat slumped in the same chair that had housed him for countless hours, watching Sofiya sleep. All he could do at this point was wait, and it was wreaking havoc with his mind. He fidgeted, imagining all the things that could go wrong, each one more horrible than its predecessor.

Wiping his sweaty palms on the dark denim covering his legs, he glanced at his watch. Worry gnawed at his gut—time was limited, and Ibrahim's man should have arrived ten minutes prior. The fact he hadn't filled Savva with a dreadful certainty that at any moment a pack of guardians would appear in the doorway, ready to drag him off in handcuffs.

It had been the simplest of plans—in hindsight, maybe _too_ simple. Having spent over half his life at Saint Basil's as a student and the last year and a half patrolling the grounds as a guardian, Savva knew all the best spots for entering and exiting the campus without being seen. He knew all the ins and outs of each and every building on the campus—and the easiest ways to enter those buildings while remaining completely unnoticed. He'd never stopped to consider that the other guardians had the same knowledge, and might make a habit of doing regular checks on the noticeable weak spots in security.

Sitting in Sofiya's room and absentmindedly fiddling with his watch, he realized how naïve he had been. Bowing his head he offered up a silent prayer that everything would go accordingly without complications. The fact he had been feeling brief tugs of remorse for using the clinic to stage his cover was just making him even more anxious. The staff had spoken out on his behalf, convinced of his innocence, and that weighed heavily on his conscious. As grateful as he was for their intercession, he almost wished they had stayed out of the situation. Now, if he were caught—if Boreyev decide to check on his whereabouts—they would be named as accomplices, even though they were completely innocent of involvement in the sordid affair.

The door behind him opened suddenly, startling him out of his reverie. A dark haired man entered the room, nodding a greeting as he quietly shut the door. The man was approximately the same size as Savva, with hair that was almost a perfect match—necessary things, since he was meant to be a stand in, his face hidden in his arms as he slept beside Sofiya's bed.

"Mr. Mazur sent me—I am Yakov."

Savva clasped his outstretched hand, squeezing it. "Thank you for helping me."

Yakov shrugged. "It is my job. He tells me what to do, and I do it."

"Did you have any problems I should know about?"

"No. I apologize for the delay, we were waiting to hear from our contact at Pohot'." Reading the confusion on Savva's face, the man continued. "It is the club where the meeting will take place."

"With a name like Lust I assume it is a…" He blushed, not wanting to say the words aloud.

"Whorehouse." Yakov smirked at his discomfort. "It was the best place we could find on such short notice—it had to be a place where the transaction would go unnoticed. The man you are meeting is named Kintsel. Mr. Mazur told you what to look for, correct? How to spot him?"

"Yes. I know what they look like."

Yakov nodded. "The bike is hidden here—" he produced a map, pointing out the location in question, "and Pohot' is here."

Once again the door jerked open, causing both men to glance up at the same time. Yakov's hand slid beneath his jacket and Savva saw the handgun an instant before the man pulled it. Batting his hand aside, he stepped in front of the doorway assuming a protective stance before the woman who had entered the room uninvited.

"No. She is an innocent." He turned to face Nurse Zhabin, his head drooping in shame. They had been caught before even executing the switch. "Madam, I can explain—"

"Change jackets."

Savva's head shot up at her hushed words, his eyes wide. "Pardon?"

"You've never worn a jacket that color—you need to switch jackets with him. Anyone looking into the room would notice the difference."

"Mrs. Zhabin—"

"There's no time for explanations now, Savva. I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing. Just promise me that I'll never have to see another woman beaten and raped by those bastards. Promise me I'll never have to hear girls crying their hearts out in the night while Boreyev and the council look the other way." Her eyes filled with tears as she grabbed his arm, shaking him. "Do whatever you have to, but stop them from doing this again."

Nodding, he quickly stripped off his jacket, handing it to the other man. "You have my word, madam. I will end them. For Sophia and all the others they have harmed."

She pressed her lips to his cheek before turning to the newcomer. "Sit there with your face buried in your arms. I'll keep everyone away as long as I can. They'll think she's having a rough night." She turned to Savva, offering him a ghost of a smile. "Now let's get you out of here before someone sees you."

Grabbing the map and a set of keys from Yakov, he followed her down the corridor and into an abandoned wing. As he entered a room, preparing to sneak out the window, her hand on his arm stopped him.

"When you get back, wait here and I'll help you get back to her room."

"I have no idea how long it will be, madam."

"I'll check every two hours. Be safe Savva, for Sofiya's sake."

"Why are you risking yourself like this? If we are caught—"

She silenced him with a wave of her hand. "Sometimes in order for the right thing to happen, we have to do the wrong thing. Boreyev knows what my cousin and his friends have been doing, and he doesn't care enough to stop them. I want them punished. I want them to feel the same fear that the dozens of women they've violated have felt."

He nodded at her as he captured her hand, placing a soft kiss on the back before sliding out the window and vanishing into the darkness.

* * *

The motorcycle had been hidden from sight in a dense thicket, a few hundred feet from the main road. Savva's heart raced as he started the engine, convinced that the noise from the powerful machine would draw unwanted attention. After a few moments, when no one appeared, he made his way to the road and within fifteen minutes he found himself at the small town marked on Yakov's map.

Pohot' was easy to find, the raucous music from inside echoing down the otherwise quiet, deserted street. Upon entering he found the patrons were mostly non-royal Moroi men, the type that—if they were to disappear—would most likely not be reported as missing, thus garnering no unwanted attention. Their loved ones—if they had any—would know about their unscrupulous habits and would thereby assume the worst.

A filmy haze of smoke from innumerable cigarettes and hookahs coated the room, the foul smelling smoke making the dimly lit room seem even darker and dingier. The barmaids were almost as drunken as the guests they served, their makeup garish and overdone, the hair they had so carefully teased and coiffed before their shift starting to wilt in the heat generated by too many bodies packed into the rather small establishment.

Savva seated himself in the corner, ordering a glass of vodka that would remain untouched. He was by no means an expert on blood whore dens—this being the first he'd ever entered—but even with his limited knowledge he could tell that this one was the lowest of low. The women were bottom of the barrel, as seedy looking as the room around them. Emaciated and middle aged, their exposed skin was covered with knobby, raised scar tissue from years of receiving bites from their Moroi clients. For the most part the women ignored him, recognizing him instantly as a fellow dhampire. Since he could not provide the endorphin laced bites that they craved, he simply didn't exist in their eyes.

The waitress reappeared, staggering towards him on ridiculously high heels. Standing, he took the vodka from her outstretched hand before she lost her balance and spilled it on him. Thanking her and sending her off with a generous tip, he studied the contents of the glass intently. From the corner of his eye he spotted a scrawny, nervous looking man slowly edging towards his table. Feigning disinterest, he tilted the glass back, pretending to take a sip. Apparently that was what the man had been waiting for—he slid into the chair across the table, studying Savva with rheumy, feverish looking eyes.

Raising an eyebrow, Savva pushed the glass across the table. "Mr. Kintsel?"

"I am." The man downed the vodka, wincing slightly as it burned its way towards his stomach.

Kintsel was pale and thin, resembling someone strung out on strong narcotics. It was a look that was common among humans who lusted after immortality. Unlike the blood whores who were always hungering for their next endorphin fix, men like Kintsel were always hungering for power. It was what, according to Ibrahim, identified them as pets—the employees that belonged to the Strigoi they served.

"You are aware of what I require?" Savva asked.

"Yes. He'll meet with you in the alley. Alone." Kintsel nodded his head towards a small door half hidden behind a curtain. "I'll be here when you get back to… finalize the details."

Nodding, Savva made his way to the door, taking a deep breath and steeling himself for what lay outside. Everything in him was screaming, begging him to turn back now, before he committed the most abhorrent act imaginable to a guardian . This was his last chance to stop this madness before it reached the point of no return. To turn around before he lost a piece—however small—of his soul.

Perhaps if he were a different kind of man, he could call it off. He could forget about Sofiya and her problems, finding himself a new woman to love—one without all the baggage and trauma. One without the insanity. He could forget about vengeance and punishing the wicked, instead focusing solely on what new pleasures each day could bring him.

Savva Luzhkov wasn't that man, and he never would be.

Sofiya was his life, and her emotions were his, for better or worse. The rage within him at her abasement demanded action—and it was at hand. All he had to do was walk through the door in front of him, and the wheels would be in motion. It would be done, and in the most depraved way possible.

He stepped out into the darkness, his calloused hand resting on the hilt of his silver stake. His mind was still screaming at him, but he ignored it, striding purposefully towards the middle of the alley. Never in his life had he thought he would be in willing to barter with a Strigoi—but then, he'd never imagined anyone harming the woman who's life he cherished above all others.

"I didn't believe Kintsel, but here you are—a guardian, waiting to meet with me—to do business with me. It feels a bit chilly tonight—I wonder if that means hell is freezing over?"

The voice was cold and emotionless, bringing to mind a moldy, dark cavern filled with mushrooms, the ground underfoot crawling with centipedes. The hair on the back of Savva's neck prickled with unease. He studied the shadows in the direction the voice had come from, but even his dhampire enhanced eyes couldn't separate the speaker's form from the enshrouding darkness.

"Did your… pet tell you what I require?"

A dry chuckle answered him, the sound seeming nearer than it had been a moment before. "You need one of the awakened to play the part of your private torturer to three royal Moroi."

Taking a deep breath, he nodded, his hand tensing around the stake. "Yes. When I am finished with them, you will be allowed to drain them. Not change them, mind you. If you comply, I will have three more for you in a few weeks time."

"Why?" The voice was no longer coming from somewhere in front of him, it was whispered directly in his ear. Spinning, his brown eyes widened with panic, Savva jerked backwards, pulling his stake and holding it between their bodies. "Calm yourself, boy. Why would I drain you when you promise me such a delightful treat?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want them tortured? What did the naughty little royals do to make you turn to the dark side?" Its—his—voice was caustic and mocking as he slowly paced from one side of the alley to another. He was tall, leading Savva to believe it had been a Moroi before its corruption.

"They raped my woman and killed our unborn child. It is not the first time they have defiled a lady."

The Strigoi cocked its head, looking like a giant bird of prey. "Hmmm… naughty boys indeed. What is her name—your lady love? The one who's honor you so gallantly seek to avenge."

"Lady Sofiya Badica."

The Strigoi stilled its frenzied movement, it's eyes narrowing. "Did you say Badica?"

"Yes. She is the only child of the current Badica Prince." Savva shifted his grip on the stake, his fingers slowly beginning to throb from the tightness of his grip around the hilt.

"Then she is… was… a member of my own family. I will gladly make them pray for death for daring to touch such a prize. Perhaps you _should_ consider letting me change them. If you were to bind them in silver beforehand, you could spend years torturing them with your little stake. Starving them. Exposing them to the sun, one limb at a time. Then when you grew weary of the game, you could let your lovely Sofiya have the pleasure of staking them. A poke for a poke, so to speak." It laughed, pleased with either the idea or its crude humor. "Tell me dhampir, what houses do they represent?"

"Ozera, Dashkov and Ivashkov. Two of the others are Voda and Szelsky—I will need the name of the remaining assailant, that is part of our bargain—for you to make them talk."

"I haven't had an Ivashkov in years." The Strigoi ran its pale tongue over equally pale lips, as if savoring the thought of his upcoming meal. The malicious expression on its chalky, white face chilled Savva to the bone.

He stared at the creature, avoiding direct eye contact so as not to be ensnared in its web of compulsion. The eyes themselves were a deep brown, so dark that without the red telltale ring around the pupil it would be impossible to differentiate it from the iris. His black hair swung freely about his shoulders, slightly covering one eye. As Savva studied the Strigoi, taking in every detail of its appearance and committing it to memory, it stood waiting patiently, looking almost amused by his close scrutiny.

"Well? Do I pass inspection? Did you want to check my teeth as well?" It bared its fangs as it chuckled, amused again by its own inane attempt at wittiness.

"Do we have a deal?" Savva asked, ignoring its chiding.

"Yes. Give Kintsel the details. I look forward to doing business with you Mr…" The creature trailed off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

"I am Savva."

"And I am Isaiah." The Strigoi bowed its head as it moved back into the shadows. "It has been my pleasure—I simply cannot wait to begin the hunt."

Savva copied its movement, backing towards the door himself, ever vigilant of the shadows around him. "They are trussed up and waiting, sir. You will not have to hunt them."

Isaiah's laughter made a chill race down Savva's spine. "Ah, my friend, but you forget. We will have to hunt for the name of the sixth. And I can promise you, my methods of obtaining information are _very_ thorough."

The door hit Savva's back and he fumbled for the knob for a moment, before simply giving into his rising panic and kicking backwards. With one powerful blow the door swung inward, the dim light from the barroom lighting up an expanse of the ally. He was alone—the Strigoi had fled into the night, off to undoubtedly slaughter some innocent. Sliding his stake back into its holster, Savva stumbled to the bar, ordering and downing a shot of vodka before returning to the table where Kintsel waited. Sinking down in the wooden chair he crossed himself, feeling for all the world as if he had just made a deal with the devil himself.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: **_**I have tried not to post many authors notes on this story, but this one is necessary. First, to answer the many questions I have received via PM and the reviews—yes, the Strigoi ****_is_**** the Isaiah from Frostbite. **

**Second, I need to say a big, heartfelt tanks you to Braveatheart1996. Not only did she provide me with a massive amount of information on mental illness/depression, she also brought the music box version of lilium from the show elfen lied to my attention. **

**In her review she wrote, "throughout this entire story, in my mind I've been replaying the music box version of lilium from the show elfen lied. I just feel like it captures the complexity and sadness of the situation here." **

**I Googled the song and immediately fell in love with it, because she was absolutely right. It has an old world feeling that perfectly represents Savva's story. If you haven't heard it, I encourage you to look it up—I now listen to it whenever I'm working on this story. So thank you Braveatheart1996, your input has really helped with the shaping of Savva's tale.**

**Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy it.**

**~Samwysesr**

* * *

Upon returning to the academy, he was surprised to find Nurse Zhabin waiting for him in the tiny room. She sat on the dirty floor, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. The door was ajar, allowing a dim steam of light into the room, falling across her lovely face and illuminating it like a work of art. Savva was distressed to see that even in sleep, her pale brow was furrowed with worry. As he crossed the room to her side she stirred, her hands flying up in a protective gesture—almost as if she intended to ward off an attack.

"Shhh—it is me, madam. Savva. Are you alright?" He crouched down beside the frightened woman, realizing a moment too late that having a man tower over her would increase her obvious panic.

Sighing, she clasped a hand to her breast, letting out a small burst of breathless laughter. "I'm fine… You startled me."

"I apologize, I did not know you would be in the room."

"It's my lunch break. I didn't want to leave the building." She took a deep breath, her eyes searching his face. "Is it done?"

"Not yet. This was merely a meeting with the… person who is going to aide me."

Something about his face must have conveyed the inner turmoil he was feeling. "Why do you look so… haunted?"

"It is complicated. The less you know about the details involved, the better it will be for you should something happen." He studied the floor, not wanting to meet her eyes. "You put yourself in great danger by helping me. If Boreyev ever found out—"

"Savva, look at me." She tapped his chin with a long, slender finger, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I'm your friend—that's one of the reasons I'm doing this. I appreciate your concern, but I know that's not the only thing troubling you. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Not this. This is something I will carry to my grave, Madam. This is something I cannot even share with my Sofiya."

"Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who isn't…involved. Someone who…" she broke off, gently biting down on her full lower lip. "Sometimes you have to share the burden, or else it will eat away at you like a cancer."

"You say that as if you know from experience." He waited for her answer. After several moments of silence, her jaw tightened, then she began speaking in a voice so soft he could barely hear it.

"I do—I have something that's been… tormenting me for a very long time. I've never told anyone—but I'll trust you with it. Two years ago at a family outing, my cousin… he forced himself on me. When I told…" She sighed, closing her eyes before continuing. "Oleg's parent tried to play it off on the fact he was drunk. He wasn't. He knew exactly what he was doing."

"I'm sorry. No woman should be subjected to such treatment." Savva patted her arm awkwardly. "He will pay for his actions."

"How. Tell me what it is you're planning—what is it that puts such terror in your eyes Savva Luzhkov?"

"You will think I am a monster, madam. You will think I am the most wicked man in existence."

"No—Oleg Ivashkov holds that title. I think you're a good man. One who's been put in a situation that he can't win by following the rules. I think you are doing your best to right the wrongs that were done against someone you love. I think—"

"I have employed a Strigoi to torture them." He cut her off, his words a husky whisper. His tone betrayed the shame he felt at his actions.

Her laughter surprised him. He had expected many reactions. Horror, disgust, anger—but not mirth. He stared at her, confused as he saw a single tear slide down her pale cheek, completely at odds with the happy sound that bubbled from her lips.

"You are the most brilliant, brave man I have ever met. If I weren't married, and you weren't so desperately in love with your Sofiya, I think I'd kiss you."

"Madam? I… I don't understand—"

"Promise that you'll tell me everything—I want to know every single detail of what the Strigoi does to that bastard. I want your words to paint a picture so vivid that I'll be able to see it every time I close my eyes. Maybe then I can chase away the nightmares of what he did to me, once and for all."

Savva studied her upturned face. Her green eyes bored into him like lasers, demanding he comply. "Never. A lady should not hear such things—it would give you different nightmares altogether."

"Nevertheless, you will tell me, won't you?" She smiled at him, and it was such a happy, trusting smile that it weakened his steadfast resolve. She was gazing at him as if he were a chivalrous knight, on the verge of slaying the dragon that hunted her.

He sighed, pushing back a lock of hair that had somehow escaped its binding and was hanging in his eyes. "Yes madam. If that is what you wish." Standing up, Savva reached down to assist her, alarmed when she kept hold of his hand and pulled him into a quick embrace.

"We're friends now, Savva. Call me Eva." Noticing his stiff posture and undeniable discomfort, she released him, exiting the room without another word.

Savva followed her down the hallway, back to the room that had become his home. It was small and uncomfortable, but it housed the sole purpose for his existence. The mere thought put a spring in his step—soon he would be back where he belonged, protecting his Sofiya.

* * *

Over the next few days, Savva slowly began to regret sharing his plan with Eva. Not because he was afraid the woman couldn't keep a secret—instead it was because her constant questions were slowly driving him mad. She was frustrated that Oleg still lived, and she couldn't comprehend what could be gained by delaying the inevitable. No matter how many times he tried to explain that it was necessary, still she badgered him. Their last conversation had left him strangely… dazed. One minute he had been in the hall, reiterating in a hushed whisper that he had no control over the timing of the event—the next thing he knew he was sitting in his usual spot, shaking his head in confusion. He assumed that woman had him so distraught that he'd spaced out, losing himself for the remainder of the argument. Since he had barely been sleeping, his lapse was easily dismissible—he was exhausted, mentally and physically.

Even more frustrating was that he understood Eva's position—he felt the exact same irritation. He wanted the whole sordid affair over and done with. He wanted the name of the man that had killed his unborn child. It was inconceivable to him that it was the Strigoi delaying the matter; when he'd returned to the table on the night of their meeting, the human had insisted they wait four days, claiming his 'master' had prior engagements. Savva didn't dare speculate as to what type of activities the Strigoi might be partaking in during the interim, he simply accepted the inevitable, agreeing to the wait.

Needless to say, he was greatly relieved when the appointed time finally drew near. Yakov slipped into the room unnoticed, once again taking his place at Sofiya's bedside while Eva escorted him to the same small room he'd previously used to make his escape. She barely spoke to him, but he refused to worry about her sullenness. He needed all his wits about him while sneaking across the grounds.

The dark seemed to press down on him as the motorcycle hugged the curves of the twisting, narrow road. The farmhouse was one Ibrahim had located, abandoned for years and set on a parcel of land so large that there were no nearby neighbors to bear witness to any comings and goings. Anxiety ate at him as he made his way up the rutted, overgrown dirt drive—throughout his journey he'd been plagued by the nagging feeling that someone was following him. He'd spent most of the trip looking over his shoulder every few minutes, his eyes searching the road behind him for any sign he might have a tail. It was ridiculous, of course—only a case of nerves.

As the house came into view he spotted Radu Iorga—another of Ibrahim's hired men—standing on the dilapidated front porch, leaning against one of the posts that supported the sagging roof, smoking a cigarette. The tall blonde man seemed out of place in such shabby surroundings—his suit was expensive, his grooming impeccable. Smiling as Savva approached, he quickly flicked the glowing cigarette off into the darkness.

"Your… _guest_ thought you might not show."

"And yet here I am." Savva climbed the creaking steps, stopping a few feet away from the Romanian.

"I didn't doubt you. _It_ did." Radu pulled out another cigarette, offering him the pack. When he declined politely, the man continued. "They're waiting for you. It hasn't gone near the cellar—I think it wants to make a dramatic entrance."

Nodding, Savva started for the door, only to be stopped by the feel of the taller man's hand on his shoulder. Cocking an eyebrow, he stared at the hand, then at the man who owned it.

"Be careful with that thing. Watch your back—I don't trust him not to attack us as soon as the Moroi are dead."

"Of course. I won't forget what he is, or what his kind are capable of." With that, Savva entered the house, steeling himself for the long night ahead.

He ignored the closed doors on both sides of the foyer, following the narrow corridor to the back of the house where the kitchen was located. He could hear muffled sounds coming from what must have once been the front parlor. From the faint feminine laughter, he assumed it came from either one of the feeders that Ibrahim had procured or one of the blood whores that Isaiah had required. The Strigoi demanded that the Moroi be well fed before he… entertained them, and had insisted on the use of three women employed at Pohot.

The door to the pantry stood open, revealing a large hole in the wooden floorboards. Someone—Kintsel, he supposed—had already removed the hidden trap door and entered the underground chamber. Carefully he lowered himself down, his feet finding purchase on the rickety ladder. Dim light from the depths below indicated that the lanterns were already lit; their flames cast flickering, eerie shadows on the walls as he descended, making him hyper-aware of the fact that he would soon be joined in the dreary space below by a nightmarish creature.

"Luzhkov," a raspy voice croaked as he turned, "we should have known you were behind this."

He didn't acknowledge the three Moroi that were strapped to folding metal chairs in the center of the room. Instead, he examined his surroundings. He'd never actually entered the cellar before—or even the house, for that matter. Ibrahim had sent him a rough sketch of the layout, the cellar represented by a small square representing the concealed trap door.

The room was large and damp; sporadic patches of some mold like mossy growth decorated the gray field stone walls, making the large open space seem even more dismal. The floor was comprised of hard packed earth, and water could be heard dripping somewhere in the darkness. The lanterns that provided the rooms source of light hung from large metal hooks that were anchored into wooden beams overhead—Savva noticed that two of said lanterns had been removed and placed on the floor, their hooks bare, chains laying on the dirt below them.

Kintsel sat perched on a large stone topped table that had been shoved into the farthest corner of the room. Nodding respectfully at Savva, he rose and walked past the Moroi, silently ascending the ladder. Savva leaned against the table, turning his attention to his guests.

The normally impeccable Moroi lords were disheveled and dirty, looking completely exhausted. Radu had limited their blood supply in order to keep their magic at bay, and it was taking a toll on them. A few sips twice weekly kept them alive, but weak and sick looking.

"Have the accommodations not been to your liking gentlemen?"

"You'll pay for this Luzhkov. I'll see you executed for what you've done," Oleg Ivashkov said, with what Savva assumed was meant to be a fearsome glare.

"I think not." He smiled, hearing footsteps overhead. "You see, I have people to account for my whereabouts at all times. I have friends. Powerful friends."

He turned, prepared to assist the women as they came down the ladder. All three were haggard and pasty, not the clean, healthy type of feeder that the Moroi had become accustomed to. Kintsel roughly led them over, shoving them to their knees in front of the prisoners. Ozera and Dashkov immediately began to feed, but Ivashkov's lip curled up in disgust.

"I want the other feeder—the one the blonde dhampir brought last time."

"I don't believe you are in any position to make demands," Kintsel said, smirking at the Moroi. "You'll eat what I provide or suffer my masters wrath."

Savva's laugh was low and dangerous sounding. "These are the feeders we have on hand. Drink or don't drink, the choice is up to you. _I_ hope you do not, because I would love to watch what Kintsel's employer will do to you for your disobedience."

Ivashkov's face twisted into a malevolent glare, his thoughts telegraphing across his face as he studied the woman's bowed neck. Savva pulled out his stake and was beside the man in a flash, the tip pressing into the soft flesh of his jowls.

"I will kill you before you complete the change," he stated, his voice flat.

"I wouldn't—"

"Do not lie—I know what you were considering. I saw it in your eyes."

"And what would that be, I wonder?" Isaiah's cold, emotionless voice echoed down from the opening overhead. A moment later he dropped down to the dirt floor, completely forgoing the ladder. Smiling broadly, he flashed his fangs as he straightened out the cuff of his black suit coat. "Perhaps he intended to drain the whore dry? To awaken himself and attack you?"

Ivashkov let out a small, terrified sound as his eyes widened in horror at the sight of the Strigoi. The noise alerted his friends—they pulled away from their feeders, staring uncomprehendingly at the new arrival. Their eyes flicked to Savva and he could read them like a book—they were waiting for him to attack the Strigoi and protect them—that was what guardians were for, after all. It was their job—the Moroi came first.

Isaiah sauntered to Savva's side with the rolling grace of a big cat. Motioning towards the Moroi with an outstretched hand, his voice was almost a hiss. "Which one should I start with… what a marvelous selection of Royal blood..."

Savva's hand tightened around the stake as he studied the three struggling, pleading captives—for just a moment, a lifetimes worth of conditioning kicked in, urging him to guard the Moroi and protect them with his life, but he shoved it away. His lips curled up in a vengeful smile as he turned towards the Strigoi.

"You are my dinner guest—the choice is yours, my friend."

And then, the Moroi's screams began.


	12. Chapter 12

Savva had always considered himself to be a man with an extremely strong stomach. He had to be, after all—killing Strigoi was gruesome work, even when everything went smoothly. At worst, well it was… messy. No matter how skilled a guardian might be at delivering a death strike to the heart, the slightest small movement could cause the blow to glance off the ribs. Not to mention all of the numerous slashes one must deliver while trying to slow the Strigoi and access the heart in the fist place.

Watching Isaiah toy with his captives… well that was another matter entirely. Torture was never pretty, and the Strigoi seemed to be a master at it—drawing out each experience for hours on end. He was covered in blood—not to mention other things—before he was halfway done with the first Moroi.

One by one they were taken before him, hands shackled and fastened to the chains that hung from the ceiling. There he tormented and toyed with them—yet still they had no answer to the question that Isaiah kept repeating, over and over in his cold, quiet voice. Several times Savva had been forced to turn away lest he empty his stomach at the gruesome sight before him.

"You think I don't know that as soon as I tell you we're dead? You can't afford to let us go." Ozera gasped the words out, blood pouring from his nose, which had been flattened beyond repair ."Kill me now you bastard, because I'll take the answer to my grave."

Isaiah stared at the Moroi for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his pale face filled with intense rage. Turning to face Savva, the anger smoothed out, leaving him with an expressionless mask that was a million times more frightening. "I think I may just need your assistance with the next round, my friend."

Studying the chained Moroi, Savva pursed his lips, unsure if he could acquiesce to whatever the Strigoi had in mind. "What is it you would require me to do?"

Isaiah pointed to a nearby lantern. "Perhaps if we turned up the heat a notch it would loosen their tongues. I myself cannot tolerate fire, so you must be the one to apply it to… certain parts of the anatomy."

"I… I do not think I can do that sir. I took an oath, you see—"

He was cut off by the sound of a familiar voice calling down from the hatch above. "I'll do it."

Savva turned, horrified to see Eva gracefully descending the ladder. "How in the…" Catching himself before he cursed at a lady, he frowned. His control was slipping more and more every day. "How did you know where I was?"

"Compulsion. I made you disclose the location then I wiped the conversation from your mind." She turned to the Strigoi, smiling nervously as she extended her hand. "I'm Eva Zhabin. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr…"

"You can call me Isaiah, child." Taking her hand he bowed over it, and with a display of old world manners, raised it to his smiling lips before brushing the soft skin with a kiss. "Aren't you afraid to be near such an evil, bloodthirsty creature, Miss Zhabin?"

She smiled at him flirtatiously. "I could ask you the same thing, Isaiah. And it's Mrs. Zhabin, but you can call me Eva."

The Strigoi smiled. "Touché, little Eva."

Ivashkov's voice was a whispered plea. "Eva? What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for retribution, Cousin." Her tone was dangerous, causing the man to let out a horrified whimper as he realized she wasn't there to offer him aide.

"Retribution for what, pretty girl?" The Strigoi's voice was a seductive purr as he circled her, his eyes roaming her lithe body. The form fitting slacks and sweater she wore made the most of her figure, leaving little to the imagination. A hunger for more than just blood flashed across his face as he waited for her answer.

"He raped me," she said, her voice cold.

The lustful look disappeared in an instant, replaced by a hard, fierce expression. "Then perhaps instead of fire he should receive the same treatment in return. What do you think of that?" Isaiah slid his pale fingers under her chin, lifting her face up. His eyes locked with hers and for a moment, Savva felt as though they were partaking in dome strange, wordless communication. Her face had lit up at the suggestion, chilling Savva to the core of his being. This was a side of Eva he wished he'd never seen. One he wished he never knew existed within her at all.

Finally, the Strigoi pulled away, snapping his fingers at the human who'd resumed his position loitering in the corner. Savva watched in horror as Kintsel swapped Ivashkov for Ozera, chaining the man's hands above his head, unfastening the Moroi's pants and tugging them towards the floor.

"No." Savva stepped forward, shaking his head in protest. "I will not allow this. You cannot—"

'We can and we will," the Strigoi shot back. Kintsel began unbuckling his belt, seeming unfazed by the action that his master was demanding he perform—and in front of a woman, no less.

"This is not what I agreed to!"

"I beg to differ. You agreed I could torture the name out of them. There were no… limitations put on the methods I would employ." The Strigoi gave him a cunning smile. "If you can't bear to watch, then I suggest you wait upstairs with the Romanian."

Savva's eyed darted to Eva, wondering how much of a fight she'd put up were he to drag her to the ladder. He couldn't leave her down here with the monster, in any case. "Fine. Come Nurse Zhabin."

"Are you crazy? I've been dreaming about this for far too long to walk away now, Savva Luzhkov!" She was indignant, her face alit from within with what had to be years of pent up rage. "I'm going to relish every pain filled thrust he receives. His screams will be better than the sweetest music to me."

"You cannot mean that, Madam. Surely you see that—"

"Your quibbling is beginning to irritate me, Luzhkov. I give you my word that sweet Eva will remain… untouched. Although I must admit, she would make a most satisfying mate." Isaiah chuckled as a faint blush swept across Eva's high cheekbones. "I admire her spirit far too much to drain her, and while I would gladly Awaken her, it would have to be upon her own request. Otherwise she would hold a grudge and be a formidable enemy. I promise, in any case, it won't happen here and now."

Glancing at Eva, he saw her impatience. Savva nodded, slowly before hurrying to the ladder. Ivashkov screamed after him, each words like the lash of a whip across his broad back, stiffening his shoulders and strengthening the desire for vengeance within him.

"What kind of Guardian takes a Strigoi's word Luzhkov? What kind of a man watches as those he's sworn his life to protect are brutalized before his eyes?"

Glaring back at the man, Savva's lip curled up in a sneer. "A man out for basic justice, Lord Ivashkov. To me, you are worth nothing. You are less important than the dirt beneath my feet. That Strigoi has shown more honor in the last ten minutes than you have in your entire miserable existence. He is worth more to me than the three of you combined."

Isaiah beamed at his words, pleased, perhaps, that a guardian thought him to be honorable. It made Savva wonder how much of the man he'd once been remained within, hidden beneath the terrifying visage of the outer Strigoi shell.

Ascending to the kitchen he attempted to ignore the piercing, pain filled cries that drifted up the ladder behind him. Stalking outside he found Iorga lounging in the same position, with yet another cigarette burning in his hand. Iorga smirked at him, ignoring the angry expression on his face.

"You lasted longer down there than I thought. Did you get what you needed?"

Ignoring the man's question, Savva knocked the cigarette out of his hand. "Who gave you permission to let a Moroi woman enter the building? Ibrahim assured me you were trustworthy!"

"No one's arrived since you, Luzhkov."

"Do not lie to me! She had to have passed right by you, the only other door is boarded shut from the inside."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Studying the look of confusion on the blonde man's face, Savva's eyes narrowed. "The Moroi woman who just joined the little party in the basement," he spit out, sarcasm lacing his words.

"I swear to you no one got by me."

Savva realized at once what must have happened. "She used compulsion on you." Frowning he shook his head, disgusted. "She is down there right now, participating in… an atrocity."

"Come on—whatever's happening can't be that bad." Noticing Savva's glare, Iorga shrugged. "Sorry, but torture doesn't bother me. It comes with the job."

"Trust me, I'm certain this would bother even you. It would bother any man to witness such an act."

"What? Cigarette burns? Thumb screws? It's not as if there's an iron maiden or a rack down in the cellar." Chuckling at his own joke, he slowly trailed off as Savva stared him down. "Now you've peaked my curiosity. Exactly what is it that you think is so terrible? Ten to one I've seen it—or done it—before."

Savva grimaced, not wanting to think about it, much less discuss it. "The human is… forcing himself on Ivashkov. In a sexual way."

Just as Savva had suspected, Iorga paled, shaking his head in dismay before changing the subject. Interesting to know that there were some things even Ibrahim's men couldn't tolerate hearing about, much less take part in.

* * *

He was pulled from his reverie by the sound of muffled laughter drifting down the hall. A few moments later Matilda entered the room with a much cleaner, happier looking Sonya beside her.

"Thank you Savva, you were right. I feel almost reborn after that wonderful shower."

Sonya smiled at him, and he felt the depression that had settled over him like a cloak slowly dispersing. "I am always right, madam. You should know that by now."

"Conceited much?" Sonya smiled, her tone teasing.

"I'll leave you two to chat. You know where to find me if you need me, Luzhkov." Nodding her head in their direction, Matilda smiled before leaving the room, the other female guardians trailing in her wake.

The feeling of Sonya's hand on his cheek drew his attention away from the doorway. She was studying him with a wise, almost knowing gaze. "What's wrong?"

He sighed, taking a step back to distance himself from her, ignoring the hurt expression that flitted across her face. "Nothing. I was simply thinking about the past again."

"About Sofiya?" She asked.

"Of course, after a fashion."

"Well then," she said as she entered her cell and settled herself on the bed, tucking her legs up like a small child might, "It's only fair that you share the memories. I'm hooked on your story now, you know. At times I think it might be the only thing anchoring my sanity."

He laughed. "If I were to venture a guess, moya maliy ptitsa, I'd say it was your love for a handsome young man by the name of Mikhail that did that, not the ravings of a tired old man."

"You act as though you're ancient. You can't be more than thirty."

"Thirty four actually. I will be thirty five in two weeks' time. But I feel so much older. If my physical age were to match the tiredness in my head, I would need a cane to get around." He entered the cell with a box of chocolates in hand and a fond smile playing on his lips. "Here, snack on this while I go find you some proper food. Only a few pieces of the candy, mind you. I don't want you to lose your appetite for what I'll be bringing back."

Her laughter was musical. "Yes daddy." Noticing the pained expression on his face, she dropped the box and grabbed his hand. "Oh Savva, I'm sorry. I didn't think."

He patted her hand as he turned to go. "It's alright moya maliy ptitsa. It was just unexpected. I never thought to hear someone address me in such a way." With that he left her, praying she hadn't noticed the traitorous tears that threatened to fall should he make the mistake of blinking.

After returning with her try, he watched her eat every morsel, refusing to continue his tale until her plate was clean. She complied and soon they were both lost in the past—his past. Time rolled by quickly; Savva was so intent on his words that he failed to notice when his guarding replacement joined them in the small chamber. It was not until he paused to take a sip of water that the newcomer made her presence known, her words startling him so badly he spilled almost half the bottle when he jumped at the unexpected sound.

"Is all of that true?" Her voice was hesitant, as if she were afraid her question might anger him in some way.

He thought over what he'd said in the past few minutes, realizing he'd incriminated himself a hundred times over, and before another guardian. As he opened his mouth to answer, Sonya piped in, saving his skin.

"Of course not. We have a contest going—one Guardian Luzhkov is winning, unfortunately."

The woman—he thought her name was Isobell—looked interested in the idea. "What kind of contest?"

"You have to take a true event from your past and twist it in the most horrifying way imaginable, making it into a scary story," Sonya said. "I think he imagined it would help me forget my own predicament—to hear tales that are a million times more horrendous than mine could ever be. Would you like to play as well? I warn you, he's a champion. My tales are children's stories compared to what he comes up with."

"Sure, sounds like a good way to pass the time." Isobell smiled at Sonya, then shot a hesitant glance in Savva's direction. "That is, if I'm allowed to speak to her now."

"Of course. Interaction is now part of Miss Karp's treatment, per the warden." Savva smiled at the apparent relief on the young woman's face. Apparently he hadn't been the only one distraught at ignoring the captive. "I will see you in the morning, Sonya. Try to come up with a good rebuttal to my tale."

"Good night Savva, and thanks again."

Nodding to both women, he left the room, his legs stiff from spending so many hours on the cold hard floor. Now he had more reason than ever to protect Sonya from the madness. Her quick thinking had just saved him from ending up in a cell like her own, or even worse, from suffering a slow painful death before the Moroi Royal Council. Participating in the death of Royal Moroi—with the aid of a Strigoi, no less—would demand stiff consequences. The council would make an example of him; he would be a warning to any dhampir who thought to overstep their place in the Moroi world.

Although exhaustion pulled at him, he was loath to return to his quarters, instead opting for a long walk around the compound. Sleep would be his enemy tonight, because it would not bring the sweet bliss of Sofiya's embrace. No, tonight his dreams would be filled with pale faces and red ringed eyes, with the screams of a Moroi man in torment echoing in the background.

The guilt still ate away at him like acid, even after so many years. He could feel it like a physical weight, pressing against his chest as it crushed him, constricting his breathing. It demanded its pound of flesh for the events he had set in motion, and nothing he did could loosen its ever tightening grip.

Yes, tonight, sleep must be avoid it at all costs, lest he lose himself to the nightmares of Isaiah and Eva, and the evil they created together.


End file.
